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INTRCCUCING

«»

A new magazine, the want of which has long been felt. Its name is: ORIENTAL STORIES.
It will be the purpose of this magazine to present in fiction the glamor and mystery of the
East. The Orient makes a romantic appeal to the imagination that no other part of the world
can equal. The inscrutable mystery of Tibet, the veiled allure of Oriental harems, the charge
of fierce Arab tribesmen, the singing of almond-eyed maidens under a Japanese moon, the
whirling of dervishes, the barbaric splendor of mediaeval sultans, the ageless life of Egypt —
from all these the story-writers weave charms to shut out the humdrum world of everyday
life, and transport the reader into a fairyland of imagination, but a fairyland that exists in its
full reality in Asia.

An amazing array of fine stories appears in the issue that is now on sale at the newsstands.
Among the marvelous tales included in the current issue are:

THE KING OF THE JBKAWAHS, by S. B. H.
Hurst. A thrilling story of North India, a rough
Durani Afghan, the treasure of Alexander the
Great, and Bugs Sinnat of the Secret Service.

THE VEILED LEOPARD, by G. G. Pendarves.
An exciting story of the slave trade and a half-
breed Arab leader ■whom the Touareggs called the
Leopard.

THE CHINA KID, by Prank Owen. Tih Yoh’s
protestations of meekness masked the cruel heart
of a tiger — a strange novelette of the China Sea.

GESTURE OF THE GODS, by Guy Fletcher. The
curse that took the lives of the despoilers of King
Tut-ankh-amen’s tomb is firmly believed in Egypt
today — a vivid story of Luxor and the Valley of
the Kings.

GOLDEN ROSEBUD, by Dorota Flatau. A grim
story of a blighted Chinese romance and the un-
utterable cruelty of China under the Mandarins.

THE SCOURGE OF MEKTOUB, by Paul Ernst.
African black magic was called to aid the Rose of

Meknes when confronted with the horrible punish-
ment devised by Lakhdar, the sinister Arab cap-
tain.

WITH THE VENEER RIPPED OFF, by Lee
Robinson. A startling, red-blodded tale of Morocco
and the Spanish Foreign Legion in the Riff cam-
paign.

THE SACRED CANNON RECOILS, by Pollok
Guiler. A tale of murder, intrigue, piracy, and the
opium traffic in the Dutch East Indies.

THE VENGEANCE OF SATK, by Otis Adelbert
Kline. A stirring tale of the Arab revolt against
Turkey during the World War — a story of the des-
ert and the unleashed blood-lust of a fierce race
of warriors.

THE GREEN JADE GOD, by John Briggs. An
unusual story about three enemies, one blind, one
deaf and one tongueless, who were forced into a
strange comradeship — a story of India and a native
Idol.

Where except in the Orient can such marvelous settings be found
for fascinating stories?

Read

AT ALL NEWS STANDS

year in U. S. or possessions; Canadian $1.75; Foreign $2.00.
840 N. Michigan Ave. Chicago, III.

WEIRD TALES

“PSYCHIANA”

{The New Psychological Religion)

A new and revolutionary religious teaching based entirely on the misunderstood sayings of the Gali-
lean Carpenter, and designed to show how to find and use the same identical power that He used.

“PSYCHIANA” Believes and Teaches as Follows:

FIRST — That thera le no euoh thing as a *'m]l)oonBcious
mind.”

8FCX>KD — That there Is, In this universe, a PAR MORK
POTENT and DYNAMIC POWER, the manifesta-
tions of which have been erroneously credited to
some other supposed power called the '‘subconscious
mind.”

THIRD— That this INYIBIBLE, DYNAMIC Power is THE
VERY SAME POWER that JESUS USED when He
staggered the nations by His so-called “miracles,”
and by raising the dead.

POXmTH— That Jesus had NO MONOPOLY on this Power.
FIFTH — That it is possible for EVERY NORMAL human,
being understrnding spiritual law as He understood
It, TO DUPLICATE EVERY WORK THAT THIS
CARPENTER OF GALILEE EVER DID. When He
said “the things that I do shall YE DO ALSO”— He
meant EXACTLY WHAT HE SAID.

SIXTH — That this dynamic Power Is NOT TO BE
FOUND "within,” hut has its source in a far differ-
ent direction.

SEVENTH — THAT THE WORDS OF THIS GALILEAN
CARPENTER WENT A THOUSAND MILES OVER
THE HEADS OP HIS HEARERS t.OOO YEARS AGO,
AND ARB STILL A THOUSAND MILES OVER
THE HEADS OP THOSE WHO PROFESS TO FOL-
LOW HIM TODAY.

EIGHTH— That this same MIGHTY, INVISIBLEl, PULS-
ATING, THROBBING POWER can be used by any-
one— AT ANY HOUR OP THE DAY OR NIGHT
and without such methods as “going into the si-
lence” or “gazing at bright objects, etc.”

NINTH — That when once understood and correctly used,
this mighty Power Is ABUNDANTLY ABLE, AND
NEVER PAILS TO GIVE HEALTH, HAPPINESS.
Dr. Frank B. RobiOFiOn and OVERWHELMING SUCCESS in whatever line

Pounder of “Psychiana” H may be desired.

DR. FRANK B. ROBINSON

one of the Iceenest psychological minds this country has ever produced and one of the most earnest
intense searchers into the spiritual realm believes, after years of experimentation and research, that
there Is in this world today, an UNSEEN power or force, so dynamic in Itself, that all other powers or
forces FADE INTO INSIGNIFICANCE BESIDE IT. He believes that this power or force Is THE VERT
SAME POWER THAT JESUS USED. He believes further that the entire world, including the present
church structure, MISSED IN ITS ENTIRETY the message that Ho came to bring. He believes that

The world is on the verge of the most stupendous spiritual upheaval it haa ever experienced — the
advent of Christ being of small importance when compared to it.

FREE ... FREE ... FREE

Every reader of WEIRD TALES Is cordially invited to write “PSYCHIANA** for more details of this

revolutionary teaching which, if true, might very easily be discussed the ENTIRE WORLD ROUND.
Dr. Robinson will tell you something of his years of search for the truth as be KNEW it must exist,
and will give you a few facts connected with the founding of “PSYCHIANA,*' NO OBLIGATIONS
WHATSOEVER. Sign your name and address here.

NOTICE

The requests for this course of Instruction and
information concerning It have broken all rec-
ords. Replies have come to us lit^ally by the
thousand and students have enrolled for the
course by the hundred. We expected the course
to be a success, but we did NOT anticipate the
overwhelming number of replies which we have
to date received. We are rapidly getting our
heads above water and hope to be able to dis-
continue the use of prlnt^ acknowledgments
we have been forced to use to date and person-
ally reply to all letters.

j Name

I Street and Number

I City —

} State

{ Send this to “Psyohiana," Xtoaaow, Idaho
I W. T. 1

,W. T.— 1

Publislied monthly by the Popular Fiction Publishing Company, 2467 E. WaBhington Street,
Indianapolis, Ind. Entered as second'class matter March 20. 1923. at the post office at Indianapolis,
Ind.. under the act of March 8, 1879. Single copies. 25 cents. Subscription, $2.60 a year in the
United States, $3.00 a year in Canada. English office: Charles Lavell, IS, Serjeant's Inn. Fleet
Street. E. C. 4, London. The publishers are not responsible for the loss of unsolicited manuscripts,
although every care will be taken of such material while in their possession. The contents of this
magazine are fully protected by copyright and must not be reproduced either wholly or In part
without permission from the publishers.

NOTE — All manuscripts and communications should be addressed to the publishers' Chicago
office at 840 North Michigan Avenue. Chicago, 111.

FARNSWORTH WRIGHT. Editor.

Contents for January ^ 1931

Cover Design

lUmtratittg a scene in "The Lost Lady"

The Eyrie

A chat with the readers

C. C. Senf

Fungi from Yuggoth:

6. Nyarlathotep; 7. Azathodi

H. P. Lovecraft 12

Verse

Tile Lost Lady Seabury Quinn 14

A beautiful white dancer in the temple of Angkor is persecuted by a fiend-
ish Chinese doctor — a tale of Jules de Grandin

[CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE]

COFYBiOB'm) IN GBBAT uaTAIN

[C0NTIliniB3> BVOSE PRECEDING PAGeI

The Hocr(» fcom the (Part 1) Frank Belknap Long, Jt. 32

A powerful story, of shtidHeryi h«tror — a goaserjlesJSh tale about a stone idol
brought from China

The Necromantic Tale Clait Ashton Smith 54

A» occult story of rnneh pouter^ im wHiicJk a: tnarps life is tial t» tkof person-
aliiyi of m llong-dead aacsslar

The Galley Slave Lieutenant Edgar G'ardtnet <52

An unusMoI story about a man who retained a uivid memory of tie voyage
of Ot^Tseus

TIk Portal to Power {Coocktsioa} Greye La. Spina

A four-part serial story aboM a cult of devil-worsiipp«i» m a hidden wdiey
of. she RocAy Mountains

The Avenging Shadow Acltmi Eadk SIS

Tam Vitelli sought toe outudt t&e trisete of Datistess — a stemy of foriatdm
arts in mediaetud Haptes

Passing of a God.

.Henry S. Whftdiead 98

A weird story of surgery and the datrk rites of the Black people in the
island of Haiti

Tales of the Werewolf Clan:

3. The Master Has a Narrow Escape H. Warner Muact til

A tale of the Thirty Years War and tbe first farar of witcberaft im aemr
Boland

The Game Dbrotfejr Narwkb 128

if uftts rr grim game pBe kmBawoi phyedj wii& deM as ihs 'meeifakie
yef k» woo ths game

For JtdTerCfeinsr R a t es ixr WE ma TAEFS Appl^ Wreftt to

WEIBD TALES

Western Adrertisins: Offl<} 0 $
liARLBY E. WARD, SRC., Urp.
36A Hichigsn
Cfaicaro, HL
Ftfcone, Central 61369

Baotem. Advertimni* Ottnefi

D. p. laKRR, Mar.
303 Foorth Are*,.
Itow York, K. Y.
Plioner Qrameiur 9380

K ULL, the king of Valusia, has captured the imagination of Weird Tales
readers, to judge by the enthusiastic letters that you have written to this de-
■ partment commending Robert E. Howard's latest story, Kings of the Night.
Just as The Shadow Kingdom and The Mirrors of Tuzun Thune aroused vast endiu'-
siasm, so has this latest story in the series fired the readers by the compelling sweep of
its fantasy and the strange power of its style. Kings of the Night easily took first
place in die voting for favorite story in the November issue.

A letter from Doaor C. P. Binford, of Huntsville, Alabama, says: "The story.
Kings of the Night, is undoubtedly the very best I have ever read in your most won-
derful nuga 2 ine. I am only an Alabama country doaor; but no one reads your magazine
with any more appreciation than I do. It is a godsend. In Kings of the Night, ethnol-
ogy, geography, ancient history of lost continents and forgotten races, with a skilfully
blended modern version of die latest theories of Space and Time, are masterfully
interwoven into a most interesting tale, that bears in every paragraph the stamp and
touch of the very highest type of literary genius. Verily, I thought the same author’s
Moon of Skulls could not be surpassed; but Kings of the Night is as far above it as
the present-day American is above the ape-man of Java. Literature owes a stupendous
debt to Robert E. Howard, greatest writer of the Twentieth Century. Give us,
please, some more interstellar stories like Edmond Hamilton’s The Cosmic Cloud.
I really like to leave this minor planet in a second-rate solar system and visit the
great worlds of Antares, Betelgeuse, etc.”

“My favorite author, head and shoulders above all others, is Robert E. How-
ard,” writes Doaor Arthur H. Burlong, of Philadelphia. "His stories are all splen-
did. I have on my library shelves every number of Weird Tales from number one
to date, and now I hope to add to this wealth of reading matter this new and virgin
field of literature oflfered by the companion magazine. Oriental Stories. Weird
Tales fills a place with me that no other nugazine can fill, but I will welcome
gladly this new one sponsored by you.”

James Gartlan, of Toronto, Canada, who signs himself "A Wierd Tales fan
forever,” writes to the Eyrie: "I have been a constant reader of Weird Tales since
1926 and have enjoyed immensely every story in it. It sure is a long hard wait be-
tween issues but it is worth while to obtain the very interesting stories which are
the keynote of Weird Tales. My most ardent plea for you is just keep Weird
Tales as it has been for the past four years, unique in every respect, awe-inspiring
and thoroughly interesting.”

(Continued on page 6)

WEIRD TALES

Your Thought Pictures

Turned Into Realities

VISUALIZING and dreaming of the things you need in life only creates them in the
mind and does not bring them into living realities of usefulness. If you can visualize easily
or if there are certain definite needs in your life which you can plainly see in your mind
and are constantly visualizing them as the dreams of your life, you should waste no more
time in holding them in the bought world but bring them into the material world of real-
ities. What your mind can think and create, you can bring into realization if you know
how. Don’t waste your life and happiness that should be yours by dreaming of the things
you need. Make them become your possessions and serve you.

/ Have Found the Real, Simple Way

For years I dreamed of the things X wanted and
searched in vain for ways to bring the dreams Into
realiaation. 1 followed all the methods of concentra-
tion and I used affirmations and formulas to bring
things to me frc«n the so-called abundant supply of
the Cosmic, but still I dreamed on and on without any
realization of my fondest hopes. All of the instructions
I read and lectures I heard simply helped me to build
up thought pictures in my mind and to visualize more
clearly the things 1 needed but nothing brought them
into realisation.

I had heard of the strange Oriental methods which en-
abled the people of foreign lands to turn thoughts Into
real things and so I searched among their ancient
writings to discover their secret process. Then I found
a key to the whole simple system in a b^k that ex-
plains what the Rosicrucians and the msrstics of Egypt
knew so well. By this simple method I changed the
whole course of my life and began my life over again
in happiness and prosperity. I found at last the
simple way to turn my thought pictures into realiza-
tions.

A Surprising. FREE. Helpful Book

You need not search as I had to for I will be happy to send you a fascinating book that tells a different story
than any you may have ever read and it explains how you. too, may use the simple methods which I found and

which have helped thousands to start new lives creat-
ing out of their mind power the things they need in
life. I will be glad to send you this book, if you are
sincere, called “THE LIGHT OF EGYPT.” if you
will write to me personally asking for it.

Librarian E. X. U.

Rosicrucian Brotherhood
(AMORC)

SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA

(Perpettiatlng the Original Rosicrucian Fraternity)

FREE BOOK COUPON

Librarian E. X. U.

Rosicrucian Order (AMORC)

San Jose, Calif.

Please send me without obligation of any kind, a
FREE copy of “THE LIGHT OP EGYPT.” and
sample lesson, and oblige:

Name -

Address ■

WEIRD TALES

( Continued from page 4 )

“I would like to express my admiration for The Uncharted Isle in the Novem-
ber issue,” writes Genevieve K. Sully, of Auburn, California. "Clark Ashton
Smith’s work always has literary distinction, and when that quality is coupled
with superb weird imagination, one finds a story well worth reading. May I express
a belated word of praise for Frank Belknap Long’s story in the September num-
ber, The Man from Egypt? Mr. Long’s writing denotes an acquaintance with the
finer things, and I for one should be glad to read more from one with his scholarly atti-
tude of mind. Both of these writers whom I have mentioned have nothing of the com-
monplace about their work, and you are to be congratulated upon your good taste in
including their stories in your magazine.”

A letter from Ed. Esko Abelson, of Chicago, says: "Yotur magazine is im-
proving by leaps and bounds in every way. Though this month’s adventure of Jules
de Grandin is just a murder mystery, it makes good reading. The story par excel-
lence in this issue, in my estimation, is A Million Years After. It is quite an unusual
plot. Tales of the Werewolf Clan has all the earmarks of a real tragic series.”

Charles Sharts, of Fremont, Ohio, bursts into verse in a letter to the Eyrie:
"Now in my happy married life. Each month there is a day When there is more or
less of strife. And not so much of play. It is the day Weird Tales comes out: It
happens every time. My wife calls me a lazy lout. Says I’m not worth a dime. With
that book — it’s a spooky one — I find an easy seat. What care I if the work’s not
done? 'The stories can’t be beat. What care I if the coal’s not in Or if the wood’s
not split? If there’s no wood in the wood bin. Let her take care of it. What care I
if I milk the cows. Or if I feed the sows? I don’t care if I feed the chicks. Or trim
the oil lamp wicks. Sometimes I get a dirty look And she gets on her upper; But
say, if she would get that book. Then I would get no supper.”

"Let me voice one criticism of your magazine,” writes M. G. Lichty, of Astoria,
New York. "I don’t believe you should print those interplanetary stories. To my
mind they’re not weird and have no place in Weird Tales, particularly as there
are at least three magazines in the field specializing in that type of story. I think the
space they occupy could be better devoted to weird stories. Otherwise I have no crit-
icism to make, as I enjoy all the other stories, particularly the few that appear from
Lovecraft’s pen.”

Allen Glasser, of New York Qty, writes to the Eyrie. "I have been a silent
but deeply appreciative reader of Weird Tales since its early issues. The first copy
I read contained Lovecraft’s unforgettable stoty. The Rats in the Walls, and Ashes,
by C M. Eddy, among others. Since that far-gone day. Weird Tales has been a
constant source of entertainment to me — entertainment of a sort not often found in
this prosaic world. I often wish that I might again experience the thrill of reading
for the first time such incomparable masterpieces zs The Woman of the Wood by
Merritt; Across Space by Hamilton; The Tenants of Broussac by Quinn; When the
Green Star Waned by Dyalhis; On the Dead Man's Chest by ^Iter — but I can not
remember them all. Nor would I give the impression that I consider the old stories
better than the new. I derive unbounded enjoyment from every issue of Weird

( Continued on page 8 )

WEIRD TALES

.“But I Thought That Book Was
Suppressed ! " Gasped Bess!

On Earth Did You Ever Get It?^^

I p Gloria Swanson and the Prince of Wales had sud-
denly walked into the room together, it couldn’t
have created a bigger sensation!

“Decameron Tales,” cried Bess, “Why, hasn't that
book been tabooed — where did you get it?” *T’ve heard
it was so hot they had to cover it with asbestos,”
laughed Tom.

“Yes, this is really Decameron Teles. And it isn't
suppress^, though I've never found it in stores. I got it
through an announcement clipped out of a magazine.”

No other book ever had the amazing background be-
hind the Tales from the Decameron by Boccaccio! Writ-
ten with startling frankness, these tales have been la storm
center of controversy and persecution. Critics have ac-
claimed them; while puritanical rrformers, aghast at
Boccaccio's expose of human life and love in ^e raw,
have tried to have it suppressed. But now the world is
more broadminded. Read the Decameron and decide
for yourself whether it should be banned or censor^.

A Mystery No
Linger!

You'll never know
life tmtil you’ve read this
greatest of all once-ta-
booed books 1 You'll
never know how utterly
stark and vivid a picture
of human passions can
be printed in words until
you’vefeastedon these
fascinating tales from
the greatest of all true-
to-life books— the im-
mortal Decameron of
Boccaccio!

Between its pages,
the thrill of a lifetime
of reading awaits you.
Few writers have ever
dared to write so inti-
mately of the frailties to
which the flesh is heir.
But the flaming pen of
Giovanni Boccaccio
knew no restraint. So-

RE AD !

—bow a certain noble lady slipped
Into her huHbaad'a chamber bjr
sieattb and changed placea with hia
miatreea in order to win back bia
lovel

—bow a tiny mole on a woman's
breast eondemmed ber to death
and wrecked three Itveal
—how clandestine love tctbekitch
en tamed the baron’s dinner into
a fiasco and the near-tragedy which
fo’lowedl

—bow the Duke of Crete paid for a
night's piesiiure in human cotui

phisticated end fearless to the ultimate degree, his sto-
ries are not only brilliant Action of the most grippi^
variety — but also the most illuminating record of life
in fourteenth century Italy ever penned. Hardly a de-
tail of these stirring times escaped his ever watchful
eye — and what be saw, he wrote, without hesitation or
fear!

Rich in fascinating plot, tense with action, and vi-
brant with human passion — the Decameron has fur-
nished plots for the world's great masters of literature.
Lox^eUow, Keats, Dryden, Chaucer, and even the
great ^akespeare himself sought these immortal pages
for inspiration. Thus the stories not only amuse and
entertain, but constitute a landmark literature which
must not be passed over if you would broaden your
vision-^make yourself truly cultured.

Send No Money — 5 Days’ Trial

And now we are enabled to offer you this remark-
able book — thirty -five of the best stones from the fam-
ous Decameron — for the amazingly low sum of $1 981
Send no money ^just fill out and mail the coupon fc«low.
When the package arrives pay the postman $1 98, plus
few cents postage. Inspect this
great book for five days, then if
you are not delisted return it
and your money will be refunded.
Mail the coupon this instant be-
fore this low price c^er is with-
drawn.

FRANKUN PUBLISHING CO.

Dept. A-616

8(K1 North Clark Street, Quesfo, IH.

Franklin Publishing Company,

800 N. Clark St., Dept. A-610. Chicago, Bl.

Send me a copy of Boccaccio's Decameron. 1 will pay
postman $1.98 plus a few cents postage. I resenre the
right to return it in five days for full refund.

Name — —

City - State.

If you may be out when postman calls, enclose ft.OO
with coupon and we will pay all deliyery charges. Cus-
tomers outside U. S. must send cash with order.

WEIRD TALES

( Continued from page 6) •

Tales, and I am always eager for the next. But the true value of a story can best be
gaged in retrospea. So, if I cast a wistful eye at bygone da)rs, it is only because
time has proved their worth.”

"Glad to see Old King Kull bade with us again,” writes Alonso Leonard, of
Portsmouth, Ohio. "Let us have more stories about him. But don’t ask me which
stoiy I like best — that is an impossibility, as they are all best. However, I believe,
and the readers will agree with me, that those stories which are linked together by
a well-known charaaer have more interest than those which are absolutely new.
Such stories as those about Jules de Grandin, King Kull, the Overlord of Cornwall
and the Werewolf of Ponkert are always sure to hit the mark. This is not a plea
to publish no more new stories — only give us more of the 'conneaed’ kind.”

Paul Thibault, of San Diego, California, writes to the Eyrie: *T certainly en-
joyed Francis Flagg’s story. The Jelly-Fish. It is a pity we readers can’t read more of
his stuff. It is nearly a year since his The Dancer in the Crystal appeared in your
magazine. What’s the matter? I believe that I am not the only reader of Weird
Tales who would enjoy reading more of Flagg’s stories in the future. His stories
are good, that’s why! Give us mote stories on the order of The Dancer in the
Crystal."

Radio station WTAM, Qeveland, is giving you the opportunity of hearing Jules
de Grandin and other Weird Tales story-charaaers enaa their thrilling adventures
over the air. If you want a real treat, listen in on WTAM every Wednesday at 12
midnight. Eastern standard time, and you will hear a dramatization of a fascinating
story from this magazine.

"I wish Weird Tales had a little department about the authors who write the
stories in it,” suggests Herbert Sloan, of Zanesville, Ohio. “Most of us readers are
interested in the writers of Weird Tales, and would enjoy knowing more
about them, and where they 'dig up’ the stuff that makes these interesting tales. I
have often wondered if S^bury Quinn ever studied medicine. Before I cdl this day
complete, I am going out in search of the new magazine. Oriental Stories, and
feel sure I am going to like it too.”

“A few months ago,” writes Elvia B. Scott, of Boston, "I started reading Weird
Tales to kill time while traveling. I found it so delightful and diverting that I
have waited eagerly for it ever since. In the Oaober issue The Mind-Master by Ed-
mond Hamilton has a wonderful grip. The Last Incarnation by Wallace West has
the fantastic pull, and brings out the religious viewpoint of forgiveness. Can’t we
have more of his? A good one by him in a back number I secured was a fanciful
one — something about flowers being converted into nodding ladies’ heads. Give us
some longer ones if possible. Do you ever have continued stories by him?”

A tribute to Henry S. Whit^ead is paid by William M. Tanner, of Sandusky,
Ohio, in a letter to the Eyrie. "A few years back,” writes Mr. Tanner, "a copy of
Weird Tales fell into my hands at a wayside railroad station, as the only means of
passing time on a weary train ride. Therein I found a story by Henry S. Whitehead,
and I have been a more or less constant reader ever since. 'The comments of your
readers in the Eyrie have always been of interest, but while Whitehead has received

(Continued on page 10)

POSITION?

rOR MENcHtIMEI

INSIDE or OUTSIDE WORK

AliiCISfo

Many of these positions are Ideal for men who like
healthy outdoor work, where they can enjoy the forests
and mountain trails. The duties vary from patrolling our
borders and forests, acting as Game, Fish and Fire
Warden, furnishing Information to tourists, etc., to
clerical work. You also receive an annua) vacation
\ with pay. /

BORDER
PATROL
GUARDS,
FOREST
and FIELD
CLERKS.
HEALTHY
OUTDOOR
POSITIONS

SPEQAL AGENTS

(InTesti^ators)

Start $200 to $250 Month
Government Secret Service Work Is one
of the most fascinating and interest-
ing branches of the sendee for men.
These positions arc located throughout
the country and are both traveling
and stationary. In addition to the high
saiarlea that run up to $5,000 year-
ly. all traveling expenses are pald^
wUle on the road.

I OSI

KUOP

$1,900 to $2,700 Tear
This Is a very fascinating position for men who like
to travel. It glvee you an excellent chance to see the
country free. You are usually on duly four days and
off duty four days, but are paid for full time. You
receive extra allowance for hotel expense when *iway
from home, and when you grow old you are retired
with a pension which makes you comfortable the^
!c balance of your life.

Rural and City Cartiers

$1,400 to $3,000 Tear
The Bnral Mail Carrier is out In the
air and sunshine, easy, healthy work, short
hours, with a large part of the day left to
do as be pleases. Thousands of city posi-
tions available for those who prefer Inside
work, delivering mail in large office build-
ings. These positions avallabla to both
country and city pec^le.

Over 900 Different Kinds of Positions

If you want a steady Government Position
I where strikes, hard iimes, politics, etc., will
not affect you, where you can draw twelve
months’ pay every year, and then when you
become old be retired on a pension for the
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WEIRD TALES

( Continued from page 8 )

frequent mention he has not had any really adequate comment. His West Indian
stories are authentic, but more than this, every one is a finished product. There are
no ’wild-eyed’ stories, nothing merely 'made up’. He works every one out to the last
detail, and bases them on real beliefs and customs which can only come from ac-
tual experience in the West Indies. Knowing something about them, I particularly
appreciate their reality. His finished style, showing complete knowledge of the
English language, gives him, to me, pre-eminence among your writers. No slips,
no awkwardness, and a wide vocabulary to put the right word or phrase in every
Whitehead story. Every one is a model of pure and beautiful English, painstaking,
workmanlike and finished. Take Black Tancrede, for example. A dozen readings
and you get the same mounting horror and climbing goose-flesh every time. Like-
wise, Sweet Grass, The Lips — ^more perhaps, than in any other in that first story I
read. Sea Change — there is a thriller for a reprint, but for that matter there is a tre-
mendous wallop in each of his stories. It is not often that a magazine editor hears
from me, but this man has made such an impression, I wanted you to know he se-
cured at least one new reader for Weird Tales.”

"I was particularly fascinated by the poem by Alice I’ Anson in the latest issue,”
writes Robert E. Howard from his home in "Texas. “The writer must surely live in
Mexico, for I believe that only one familiar with that ancient land could so reflea
the slumbering soul of prehistoric Aztec-land as she has done. There is a difference
in a poem written on some subjea by one afar off and a poem written on the same
subjea by one familiar with the very heart of that subjea. I have put it very clum-
sily, but Teotihuacan breathes the cultural essence, spirit and soul of Mexico.” [Mr.
Howard is right: Alice T Anson, author of the poem Teotihuacan, lives in Mexico
City. — The Editors.]

Readers, what is your favorite story in this issue of Weird Tales,^ Your opin-
ions are given careful consideration in the editorial offices of the magazine.

MY FAVORITE STORIES IN THE JANUARY WEIRD TALES ARE;

Story Remarks

( 1 )

( 2 )

( 3 )

( 1 )

( 2 )

I do not like die following stories:
Why?

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WEIRD TALES

Classics of Exotic Fiction

Autographed by the Author

“The Wind That Tramps the World”

“The Purple Sea”

ACCLAIMED BY CBITICS THROUGHOUT THE WORLD

Hew York Times: "Fanciful, touched by the super-
natural, exotic in thought and coloring. Flowers, poems,
music and jade are interwoven with their themes and
the effea is often both quaint and charming."

The China Weekly Review, Shanghai, China; "Reveals
a true sense of gentleness, the heart of a dreamer, a
deep sense of rhythm and beauty. He sees China and
the Chinese through misty, naive, sometimes philo-
sophic eyes.”

Honolulu Star-Bulletin, Honolulu, Hawaii; "They are
strange and glowing tales of an unearthly beauty. Their
scenes are laid in China but they might be anywhere.
They are essentially a part of the history of those lost
lands where Dunsany’s heroes live and die magnificently
and where Walter de la Mare's dark travelers kncxx
vainly at mysterious moonlit doors.”

Ohio State Journal, Columbus, Ohio: "There is some
weirdness here, some mystery and some tender passages,
enough of each to make a superlative ensemble tfiat
won for this author a secure place in die field of Far
Bast ficuon.”

Daily Argus Leader, Sioux Falls, S, D.: "This is a
collection to be read, laid down and read again.”
Wilmington Every Evening, Wilmington, Del.; "De-
serves a place among one’s favorite books.”

Radio Station KDKA, Pittsburgh; "For those who are
interested in Chinese literature and traditions, we
believe this book will find a cordial welcome. A very
beautiful book.”

The Globe, Toronto, Ont.: "Dealing with curious
phases of Chinese life, they are imaginative, colorful
and replete with poetry. For the first of these qualities
they might be likened to some of the creations of Edgar
Allan Poe, but even the weirdest of them possess a
tenderness to which Poe was a stranger.”

Arizona Republican, Phoenix, Ariz.; "It is not often
that such a book, as deserving of praise and as full of
real literary merit as "The Wind That Tramps the
World,” comes our way. This sounds like effusiveness,
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^ieyement. . . . ’They are masterpieces of a rich
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romance.”

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Here are some real gems of literature. Poetic and fanci-
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tically bound and would make an excellent gift to a
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Remember, first edition copies grow more valuable with
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6. NYARLATHOTEP

And at the last from inner Egypt came

The strange dark One to whom the fellahs bowed;

Silent and lean and cryptically proud.

And wrapped in fabrics red as sunset flame.

Throngs pressed around, frantic for his commands.

But leaving, could not tell what they had heard;

While through the nations spread the awestruck word
That wild beasts followed him and licked his hands.

Soon from the sea a noxious birth began;

Forgotten lands with weedy spires of gold;

The ground was cleft, and mad auroras rolled
Down on the quaking citadels of man.

Then, crushing what he chanced to mold in play.

The idiot Chaos blew Earth’s dust away.

7. AZATHOTH

Out in the mindless void the daemon bore me.

Past the bright clusters of dimensioned space.

Till neither time nor matter stretched before me.

But only Chaos, without form or place.

Here the vast Lord of All in darkness muttered
Things he had dreamed but could not understand.
While near him shapeless bat-things flopped and fluttered
In idiot vortices that ray-streams fanned.

They danced insanely to the high, thin whining
Of a cracked flute clutched in a monstrous paw.
Whence flow the aimless waves whose chance combining
Gives each frail cosmos its eternal law.

"I am His Messenger,” the daemon said.

As in contempt he struck his Master’s head.

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I enclose $1. Send at once, postage prepaid, the 12 stories
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3tate.

1. The Stranger from Cambodia

F our miles away, where Hopkins
Point light thrust its thin rapier of
luminance futilely into the relent-
less advance of the sea-mist, a fog-horn
hooted with dolorous persistence. Half a
mile out, rising and falling rhythmically
with the undulation of an ocean which
crept forward with a flat, oily swell, a
bell-buoy sounded a warning mournful
as a funeral toll. "Clank-a.-d3ag—clank-
a-clang!” it repeated endlessly.

Moneen McDougal glanced at the fog-
obscured window, half in annoyance, half
in what seemed nervous agitation. "I
wish it would stop,” she exclaimed petu-
lantly; "that everlasting clang-clang
getting on my nerves. A storm would
preferable to that slow, never-ending toll-
ing. I can’t stand it!” She shook her nar-
row shoulders in a shudder of repug-
nance.

Her big husband smiled tolerantly.
"Don’t let it ga you, old dear,” he coun-

seled. "We’ll have a capful of wind be-
fore morning; that’ll change the tempo
for you. This fog won’t last; never does
this time o’ year.” To us he added in ex-
planation:

"Moneen’s all hot and bothered to-
night, her colored boy friend ”

“Dougal!” his wife cut in sharply. "I
tell you he wasn’t a negro. He was a
Chinaman — an Oriental of some kind, at
any rate. Ugh!” she trembled at die
recolleaion. "He sickened me!”

Turning to me, she continued, "I
drove into Harrisonville this afternoon,

Doaor Trowbridge, and just as I was
leaving Braunstein’s he stepped up to
me. I felt something pawing at my elbow
without realizing what it was; then a
hand gripped my arm and I turned
round. A tall, thin man with a perfect
death’s-head face was bending forward,
grinning right into my eyes. I started
back, and he tightened his grip on my
arm with one hand and reached the other
out to stroke my face. Then I screamed.
I couldn’t help it, for the touch of those
long, bony fingers fairly sickened me.

"Fortunately the doorman happened

WEIRD TALES

to notice us just then, and came running
to my assistance. The strange man leaned
over and whispered something I couldn’t
understand in my ear, then made off
through the crowd of shoppers before
the doorman could lay hold of him.
B-r-r-rh!" she shuddered again; “I can’t
get the memory of that face out of my
mind. It was too dreadful.”

"Oh, he was probably just some harm-
less nut,” Dougal McDougal consoled
with a laugh. "You should feel compli-
mented, my dear. Qieerio, Christmas is
coming. Licker up!’' He poured himself
a glassful of Napoleon brandy and
raised it toward us with a complimentary
gesture.

Jules de Grandin replaced his demi-
tasse on the low tabouret of Indian ma-
hogany and decanted less than a thimble-
ful of the brandy into a tiny crystal gob-
let. "Exquis,” he pronounced, passing the
little glass beneath his narrow nostrils,
savoring the ruby liquor’s bouquet as a
languishing poet might inhale a rose
from his lady-love’s girdle. "Cest sans
comparatson. Madame, Monsieur — to
you. May you have a truly joyeux Noel.”
He inclined his head toward our hostess
and host in turn, then drained his glass
with ritualistic solemnity.

"Oh, but it won’t be Christmas for
three whole days yet, Doaor de Gran-
din,” Moneen protested, "and Dougal —
the horrid old thing — ^won’t tell me what
my gift’s to be!”

"Night after tomorrow is la veille de
Noel,” de Grandin reminded with a smile
as he refilled his glass, "and we can not
be too forehanded with good wishes,
Madame.”

Dougal McDougal and his bride sat
opposite each other across the resined
logs that blazed in the wide, marble-
manteled fireplace — ^the cunningly mod-
ernized fireplace from a vandalized
French chateau — ^he, tall, long-limbed.

handsome in a dark, bleak, discontented
f^ion (a trick of nature and heredity,
for by temperament he was neither) ; she,
a small, slight wisp of womanhood, the
white, creamy complexion of some long-
forgotten Norse ancestor combining
charmingly with her Celtic black hair and
pansy eyes, clad in a scanty eau-de-Nil
garment, swinging one boyishly-slim leg
to display its perfection of cobweb silken
sheath and Paris slipper. 'The big, opu-
lent living-room matched both of them.
Elearic lamps luider painted shades
spilled pools of light on bizarre little
tables littered with imconsidered trifles
— cigarette boxes, bridge-markers, ultra-
modern magazines — the deep mahogany
bookshelves occupying recesses each side
of the mantelpieces hoarded current best-
sellers and standard works of poetry in-
discriminately, a grand piano stood in
the deep oriel window’s bay, the radio
was cunningly camouflaged in a charm-
ing old cabinet of Chinese Chippendale;
here and there showed the blurred blue,
mulberry and red of priceless old china
and the dwarfed perfertion of exquisitely
chosen miniatures in frames of carved and
heavily gilded wood. The room was ob-
viously the shrine of these two, bodying
forth their community of treasures, tastes
and personalities.

"Give me a cigarette, darling,” Mo-
neen, curled up in her deep chair like a
Persian kitten on its cushion, extended a
bare, scented arm toward her big, hand-
some husband.

Dougal McDougal proffered her a
hammered silver tray of Deities, while
de Grandin, not to be outdone in gal-
lantry, leaped nimbly to his feet, snapped
his silver pocket lighter into flame and
held the blue-blazing wick out to her till
she set her cigarette aglow.

"Beg pardon, sir,” Tompkins, Mc-
Dougal’s irreproachable butler, bowed
deferentially from the arched doorway,

W. T.— 1

THE LOST LADY

"there’s a gentleman here — a foreign
gentleman — who insists on seeing Doaor
de Grandin at once. He won’t give his
name, sir, so ’’

Quick steps sounded on the polished
floor of the hall and an undersized indi-
vidual shouldered the butler aside with a
lack of ceremony I should never have es-
sayed, then glanced menacingly about the
room.

On second glance I realized my im-
pression of the visitor’s diminutive stat-
ure was an error. Rather, he was a giant
in miniature. His very lack of height
gave the impression of material equili-
brium and tremendous physical force. His
shoulders were unusually broad and his
chest abnormally deep. One felt instinc-
tively that the thews of his arms were
massive as those of a gladiator and his
torso sheathed in musdes like that of a
professional wrestler. A mop of iron-
gray hair was brushed back in a pompa-
dour from his wide brow, and a curling
white mustache adorned his upper lip,
while a wisp of white imperial depended
from his sharply pointed chin. But the
most startling thing about him was his
cold, pale face — a face with the pallor of
a statue — from which there burned a pair
of big, deep-set, dark eyes beneath hori-
zontal parentheses of intensely black and
bushy brows.

Once more the stranger gazed threat-
eningly about; then, as his glowing eyes
rested on de Grandin, he announced omi-
nously: "I am here!”

Jules de Grandin’s face went blank
with amazement, almost with dismay,
then lit up with an expression of diaboli-
cal savagery. "Morbleu, it is the assas-
sin!” he exclaimed incredulously, leaping
from his seat and putting himself in a
posture of defense.

"Apache!" the stranger ground the in-
sult between strong, white teeth which
flashed with animal-like ferocity.

W. T.— 2

"Stealer of superannuated horses!” de
Grandin countered, advancing a threat-
ening step toward the other.

"Pickpocket, burglar, highwayman,
cut-throat, everything which is execra-
ble!” shouted the intruder with a furious
scowl as he shook clenched fists in de
Grandin’s face.

"Embrasse mot!" they cried in chorus,
and flung themselves into each other’s
arms like sweethearts reunited after long
parting. For a moment they embraced,
kissing each other’s cheeks, pounding
each other’s shoulders with affeaionate
fiists, exchanging deadliest insults in ga-
min French. Then, remembering himself,
de Grandin put the other from him and
turned to us with a ceremonious bow.

"Monsieur and Madame McDougal,
Doaor Trowbridge,” he announced with
stilted formality, "I have the very great
honor to present Monsieur Georges Jean
Joseph Marie Renouard, Inspecteur du
Service de Surete General, and the clever-
est man in all the world — except myself.
Georges, abominable stealer-of-blind-
men’s-sous that you are, permit that I in-
troduce Monsieur and Madame Dougal
McDougal, my host and hostess, and
Doaor Samuel Trowbridge, skilled phy-
sician and as noble a fellow as ever did
honor to the saaed name of friend. It is
with him I have lived since coming to
this country.”

Inspeaeur Renouard bent forward in a
jack-I^fe bow as he raised Moneen’s
hand to his lips, bowed again to Mc-
Dougal, then took my hand in a grip
which nearly paralyzed the muscles of ray
forearm.

"I am delight’,” he assured us. "Mon-
sieur Trowbridge, your taste in permit-
ting this one to reside beneath your roof
is exeaable, no less, but he is clever —
almost as clever as I — and doubtless he
has imposed on you to make you think
him an honest fellow. Eh bien, 1 have

WEIRD TALES

arrived at last like Nemesis to spoil his
little game. Me, I shall show him in his
true colors, no less!” Having thus un-
burdened himself, he lapsed into a seat
upon the divan, accepted a liqueur, folded
his large white hands demurely in his
lap and gazed from one of us to the other
with a quick, bird-like glance which
seemed to take minute inventory of every-
thing it fell upon.

"And what fortunate wind blows you
here, mon brave?” de Grandin asked at
length. "Well I know it is no peaceful
mission you travel on, for you were ever
the stormy petrel. Tell me, is excitement
promised? I grow weary of this so un-
eventful American life.”

"Tiens,” Renouard laughed. "I think
we shall soon see much excitement —
•plenty — mon petit coq. As yet I have not
recovered my land legs after traveling
clear about the fearth in search of one who
is the Devil’s other self, but tomorrow
the hunt begins afresh, and then — who
knows? Yes. Certainly.” He nodded
gravely to us in turn; then: "Clear from
Cambodia I come, my friend, upon the
trail of the cleverest and wickedest of
clever-wicked fellows — and a lady.”

"A lady?” de Grandin’s small blue
eyes lit up with interest. "You amaze
me.

"Prepare for more amazement, then,
mon vieux; she is a runaway lady, young,
beautiful, ravissante” — ^he gathered his
fingers at his lips and wafted a kiss gent-
ly toward the ceiling — "a runaway baya-
dere from the great temple of Angjkor,
no less!”

”Mordieu, you excite me! What has
she done?”

"Run away, decamped; skipped!” .

"Precisement, great stupid-head; but
why should you, an inspector of the se-
cret police, pursue her?”

"She ran away from the temple ”

Renouard began again, and:

"Bete, repeat that so senseless state-
ment but one more time and I shall give
myself the pleasure of twisting your
entirely empty head from off your de-
formed shoulders!” de Grandin broke in
furiously.

" and he whom I seek ran after

her,” his colleague continued imperturb-
ably. "Voila tout. It is once again a case
of cherchez la femme.”

"Oh, how interesting!” Moneen ex-
claimed. "Won’t you tell us more, In-
speaor Renouard?”

Frenchmen are seldom importuned in
vain by pretty women. The Inspeaor was
no exception. "Do you know Cambodia,
by any unhappy chance?” he asked, flash-
ing his gleaming eyes appreciatively at
the length of silk-sheathed leg Moneen
displayed as she sat one foot doubled
under her, the other hanging toward the
floor.

We shook our heads, and he contin-
ued: "It is the hottest spot upon the
earth, mes amis — ^hot and wet. Always
the humidity hovers near one hundred
per cent. Your clothes are soaked with
perspiration in a few minutes, and will
not dry out overnight. Sheets and bed-
ding are useless for the same reason, and
one learns to sleep on tightly stretched
matting or on bare boards. Clothing mil-
dews and wounds never heal. It is the
only land where snakes large enough to
kill by constriction are also venomous,
and its spiders’ bites make that of the ta-
rantula seem harmless by comparison.
The natives sleep all day and emerge at
night like bats, cats and owls. It is a land
unfit for white men.”

"But this temple dancer — this Oriental
girl?” Moneen insisted. "Why do you
follow her here?”

"She is no Oriental, Madame; she, too,
is white.”

"White? A temple dancing-girl?
How ”

THE LOST LADY

T he Inspertof lit a cigarette before re-
plying: "The Angkor temple is the
great cathedral of Buddhism in Southern
Asia. But it is a Buddhism gone to seed
and overgrown with strange rites, even as
the Lamist Buddhism of Tibet is bastard-
ized. Very well. This temple of An^or
is a vast stone structure with sculptured
terraces, fountains and houses for the
priests and sacred dancers. All ceremonies
are held outdoors, the terraces being the
scenes of the rites. The debased Bud-
dhism is a religion of the dance. Its ser-
vices are largely composed of most beau-
tiful and extremely intricate dances, which
often last for days on end. Nor are they
meaningless or merely ritualistic. By no
means. Like those of the devil-dancers
of the North, these ceremonies of the
South have meaning — definite meaning.
Every movement of arms, legs, head, eye
and lips, down to the very angle of hands
and feet, convqrs a word or phrase or sen-
tence to those who watch and understand
as clearly as the soldier’s semaphore flags
convey a meaning to the military observer.
It is kind of stenography of motion.

"Now it can easily be imagined' that
such skill is not acquired overnight. No,
the dancers ate trained almost from the
aadle. They are under the absolute con-
trol of the priests. The smallest infrac-
tion of a temple rule, or even the whim
of a holy man, and sentence is forthwith
passed and the unfortiznate dancer dies
slowly and in circumstances of great elab-
oration and discomfort.

"So much by way of prologue. Now
for this nmaway young lady: Twenty
years ago a yoimg and earnest man from
your country named Joseph Crownshield
came to Cambodia to preach the Word of
God as expounded by authority of the
Mennonite Church to the benighted fol-
lowers of Buddha. HSlas, while his zeal
was great, his judgment was small. He
committed two great errors, first in com-

ing to Cambodia at all, second in having
with him his young wife.

"The priests of Angkor did not relish
the things which this Monsieur Crown-
shield said. They relished even less what
he did, for he was earnest, and began to
convert the natives, and gifts for the
great temple were less plentiful.

'"The young man died. A snake bit
him as he was about to enter his bath.
Snakes have no business in the bathroom,
but — his household servants were, of
course, Cambodians, and the priesthood
numbered expert snake-charmers among
its personnel. At any rate, he died.

"Misfortunes seldom come singly. Two
, days later the church and parsonage
burned down, and in the smoldng ruins
was found the body of a woman. Ma-
dame Crownshield.^ Perhaps. Who can
say? At all events, the body was interred
beside the missionary’s and life went on
as usual. But sixteen years later came ru-
mors to the French gendarmerie of a dan-
cer in the temple, a girl who danced like
a flame in the wind, like a moonbeam on
flowing water, like the twinkling of a
star at midnight. And, rumor said,
though her hair was black it was fine as
split-silk, not coarse like that of the na-
tive women, and her skin was fair as milk
and her eyes blue as violets in springtime.

"Devotees of the temple are not sup-
posed to speak to outsiders; the penalty
of an unguarded tongue is lingering
death, but — the ear of the Sdrete is keen
and its arm is very long. We learned that
rumor was well founded. Within the
temple there was such an one, and she
was even as rumor described her. Though
she never emerged from her dwelling-
place within the sacred edifice, her pres-
ence there was definitely established. Un-
questionably she was white; equally be-
yond question she had no business where

she was, but ’’ He paused, spreading

his hands and puffing out his ^edcs. "It

WEIRD TALES

is not wise to trifle with the religion of
the natives,” he ended simply.

“But who was she.?” Moneen asked.

"Parbleu, I would give my tongue to
the cat if I could answer you,” the Inspec-
tor returned. “The Surete found itself
against a wall of stone more stubborn
than that of which the temple was com-
posed. In that God-detested land we
learn much. If one fasts long enough he
will hear voices and see visions. The poi-
sons of certain drugs and the toxins of
certain fevers have the same eflFect. Occa-
sionally 'the Spirit of Buddha’ permeates
the soul of a white man — more frequent-
ly a white woman — in the tropics. The
accumulated toxic effea of the climate
leads him — or her — to give up the mate-
rialistic, cleanly civilization of the West
and retire to a life of squalor, filth and
contemplation as a devotee of some East-
ern faith. Had this happened here.? Was
this girl self-devoted as a dancer in the
temple? Had her mother, perhaps, de-
voted herself years ago, and had the child
been bom and reared in the shadow of
the temple idols? One wonders.”

“But surely you investigated?” Moneen
pursued.

“But naturally, Madame. I am Re-
nouard; I do not do things by the half.
No. :

“To the Angkor temple I went and de-
manded sight of her. 'There is no such
person here,’ I was assured.

“ 'You lie,' I answered courteously,
'and unless you bring her to me forthwith,
I shall come in for her.’

''Eh bien, Messieurs,” he turned to us
with a chuckle, “the Frenchman is logical.
He harbors no illusions about the love of
subjea peoples. Nor does he seek to con-
ciliate them. Love him they may not, but
fear and respea him they must. My hint
was sufiicient — especially as two platoons
of gendarmerie, a howitzer and machine-
guns were there to give it point. The lady

whose existence had been denied so vehe-
mently a moment before was straightway
brought to me.

“Beyond doubt she was pure European.
Her hair was black and gently waved, her
skin was white as curdled cream, her eyes
were blue as — parbleu, Madame” — he
gazed at Moneen McDougal with wide-
open eyes, as though he saw her for the
first time — "she was much like you!”

I thought I saw a shiver of terror ripple
through Moneen’s lithe form, but her
husband’s hearty laugh relieved the ten-
sion. “Well, who was she?” he asked.

"Le bon Dieu knows,” Renouard re-
turned. “Although I made the ape-faced
priests retire so that we might converse
unheard, they had either terrified the girl
that she dared not speak, or she was actu-
ally tinable to inform me. I spoke to her
in every language that I know — and they
are many — but only the lingo of the
Khmer could she understand or speak.
Her name, she said, was Thi-bah, she was
a sacred dancer in the temple, and she
remembered no other world. She had al-
ways lived there. Of her parentage she
could not speak, for father or mother she
had never known. And at the end she
joined hands together palm to palm, the
fingers pointing downward — ^whidi is the
symbol of submission — and begged I
would permit her to go back to her place
among the temple women. Sacre nom!
What is one to do in such circumstances?
Nothing!

“That is what I did. I retired in cha-
grin and she returned to her cell within the
temple.”

"Bien oui,” de Grandin tweaked the
needle points of his little blond mustache
and grinned impishly at the Inspeaor,
“but a tale half told is poorly told, my
friend. What of this other one, this so
clever-devilish fellow whom you trail
while he trails the runaway lady? Hein?”

THE LOST LADY

R bnouard joined his square-tipped
- fingers end to end and pursed his
lips judicially, "Oui-da," he admitted,
"that is the other half of the tale, indeed.
Very well; regardez-moi bien; In Cochin
China in the days before the Great War
there lived a certain gentleman named
Sun Ah Poy. He was, as you may gather
from his name, Chinese, but his family
had been resident in Saigon for gener-
ations. The Sun family is so numerous in
China that to bear the name means little
more than for a Frenchman to be called
DuPont, or an Englishman Smith or an
Irishman Murphy. Nevertheless, all
these names have had their famous rep-
resentatives, as you will recall when you
think of your great colonizer. Captain
John Smith, and the illustrious Albert of
the present generation. Also you will re-
member China’s first president was Doc-
tor Sun Yat Sen.

"This Sun Ah Poy was no shopkeeping
son of a coolie father; he was an educated
gentleman, a man of great wealth, taught
by private tutors in the learning of the
East and holding a diploma from the Sor-
bonne. His influence with the native pop-
ulation was phenomenal, and his opinions
were eagerly sought and highly regarded
by the conse 'tl prive. He wore the ribbon
of the Legion of Honor for distinguished
service to the Republic. 'This, then, was
the man who a few days before the Ar-
mistice went up-country to supervise an
elephant hunt.

"A savage old tusker had been roped
between two trained beasts and was being
led into the stockade when, without warn-
ing, he broke his fetters and charged. The
elephant on which Doaor Sun was seated
was direaly in the maddened brute’s
path. In a moment the runaway beast had
seized the unfortunate man in his trunk,
snatched him from his saddle and hurled
him forty feet through the air, crashing
him into the wail of the stockade.

"Medicine and surgery did their best.
Sun Ah Poy lived, belas! When he rose
from his hospital bed it was with body
and mind hopelessly crippled. The phys-
ical injury was apparent to all, the mental
ailment we were to find out to our cost.
Insubordination broke out among the na-
tives, French officers were openly dis-
obeyed, criminals were permitted to
escape from prison, laborers on the pub-
lic works were assaulted and beaten,
sometimes killed; the process of criminal
jurisprudence broke down completely,
for wimesses could not be made to tes-
tify; gendarmes went forth to make ar-
rests and came back feet first; examining
magistrates who prosecuted investigations
with honest thoroughness died myste-
riously, and most opportunely for the
criminals — oflicial records of the police
disappeared from their files overnight.
It was all too obvious that outlawry had
raised its red standard and hurled defi-
ance at authority.

"In Paris this would have been bad. In
Asia it was unspeakable, for the white
man must keep his prestige at all costs.
Once he 'loses face’ his power over the
natives is gone. What was to do?

"At length, like men of sound discre-
tion, the Government put the case in my
charge. I considered it. From all angles
I viewed it. What did I see? A single
dominating intelligence seemed guiding
all the lawlessness, an intelligence which
knew beforehand what plans Government
made. I cast about for suspects, and my
eye fell on three. Sun Ah Poy and two
others. He seemed least likely of the
three, but he enjoyed our confidence, and
it lay within his power to thwart our plans
if he so desired. Therefore I laid my trap.
I called three councils of war, to each of
which a different suspect was invited. At
these councils I outlined my plans for
raiding certain known centers of the crim-
inal elements. The first two raids were

WEIRD TALES

successful. We caught our game red-
handed. The third raid was a glorious
failure. Only a brightly glowing camp-
fire and a deserted encampment waited
for the gendarmes. It was of this raid I
had spoken to Doctor Sun.

"Proof? Not in English courts, nor
American; but this was under French
jurisdiaion. We do not let the guilty
escape through fear of aflFronting the pos-
sibly innocent. No. I issued a warrant for
Doaor Sun’s apprehension.

"That evening, as I sat within my cab-
inet, I heard a clicking-scratching on the
matting-covered floor. Sapristi! Toward
me there charged full-tilt a giant taran-
tula, the greatest, most revolting-looking
spider I had ever seen! Now, it is seldom
that these brutes attack a man who does
not annoy them; that they should delib-
erately attack an inoffensive, passive per-
son is almost beyond experience; yet
though I sat quiescent at my table, this
one made for me as though he had a per-
sonal feud to settle. Fommately for me,
I was wearing my belt, and with a single
motion I leaped upon the table, drew my
pistol and fired. My bullet crushed the
creature and I breathed again. But that
night as I rode home to my quarters a
second poison-spider dropped from a
tree-bough into my ’rickshaw. I struck it
with my walking-stick, and killed it, but
my escape was of the narrowest. When I
went into my bathroom 1 found a small
but very venomous serpent coiled, ready
to receive me.

"It struck. I leaped. Grand Dieu, I
leaped like a monkey-on-the-stick, and
came down with my heels upon its head.
I triumphed, but my nerves were badly
shaken.

"My men returned. Sun Ah Poy was
nowhere to be found. He had decamped.
Who warned him? My native clerk? Per-
haps. 'The tentacles of this oaopus I

sought to catch stretched far, and into the
most unexpeaed places.

"I walked in constant terror. Every-
where I went I carried my revolver ready;
even in my house I went about with a
heavy cane in my hand, for I knew not
what instant silent death would come
striking at my feet or dropping on me
from the ceiling.

"At length my spies reported progress.
A new priest, a crippled man, was in the
Angkor temple. He was enamoured of
the white dancer, they said. It was well.
Where the lioness lairs the lion will sure-
ly linger. I went to take him, nor did I
confide my plans to any but Frenchmen.

"Helas, the love which makes the
world to move also spoiled my coup.

"The Khmer are an effeminate, lasciv-
ious, well-nigh beardless race. All traces
of virility have vanished from them, and
craft had replaced strength in their deal-
ings. 'Thi-bah, the white-girl dancer, had
lived her life within the confines of the
temple, and except myself, I doubt that
she had seen a single white man in her
whole existence — ^till Monsieur Archibald
Hildebrand appeared. He was young, .
handsome, vigorous, mustached — all that
the men she knew were not. Moreover,
he was of her race, and like calls to like
in Cambodia as in other places. How he
met her I do not know, nor how he made
himself understood, for she spoke no
English, he no Khmer; but a gold key
unbars all doors, and the young man from
America had gold in plenty. Also love
makes mock of lexicons and speaks its
own language, and they had love, these
two. Enfin, they met, they loved; they
eloped.

"It may seem strange that this could
be, for the whole world knows that
temple-women of the East are welhnigh
as carefully guarded as inmates of the
zenana. Elsewhere, yes; but in Cambodia,
no! 'There night is day and day is nig^it.

THE LOST LADY

In the torrid, steaming heat of day the
population sleeps, or tries to, and only
fleeing criminals and foreigners unaccus-
tomed to the land are abroad. One might
mount the temple terraces and steal the,
head from ofiF a carven Buddha and never
find a temple guard to say him nay, pro-
vided he went by daylight. So it was
here. Thi-bah the dancer had but to creep
forth from her cell on soft-stepping, un-
shod feet, meet her lover in the sunlight,
and go away.

"Two days before I arrived at Angkor
with handcuffs already warmed to fit the
wrists of him I sought. Monsieur Hilde-
brand and this Thi-bah set sail from Sai-
gon on a Messageries Maritimes steam-
ship. One day later Doaor Sun Ah Poy
shook the dust of Qjchin China from his
feet. He did it swiftly, silently. He
dropped down the Saigon River in a sam-
pan, was transferred to a junk at sea and
vanished — where, whither.?”

"Here?” we asked in breathless diorus.

"Where else? The man is crazed with
love, or passion, or whatever you may
choose to call it. He is fabulously rich,
infinitely resourceful, diabolically wicked
and inordinately vain, as all such criminal
lunatics are. Where the moth of his de-
sire flutters the spider will not be long
absent. Although he did not travel as
quickly as the fleeing lovers, he will soon
arrive. When he does I have grave fears
for the health of Monsieur Hildebrand
and his entire family. They are thorough,
these men from the East, and their blood-
feuds visit the sins of the sons upon the
ancestors unto the third and fourth gen-
eration.”

"Can that be our Archy Hildebrand,
Doaor Trowbridge?” Moneen asked.

Inspeaor Renouard drew forth a small
black-leather notebook and consulted it.
"Monsieur Archibald Van Buren Hilde-
brand,~son of Monsieur Van Rensselaer
Hildebrand,” he read. "Address of

house: 1937 Rue Passaic” — ^he pronounced
it "Pay-sa-ay” — "Harrisonville, New Jer-
sey, E. U. A.”

"Why, that is Archy!” Moneen ex-
claimed. "Oh, I hope nothing happens

"Nonsense, dear,” her husband cut in
bruskly, "what could happen here? This
is America, not Cochin China. The po-
lice ”

"Tiens, Monsieur,” de Grandin re-
minded frigidly, "they also have police in
Cambodia.”

"Oh, yes; of course, but ”

"I hope you are correa,” the little
Frenchman interrupted. "Me, I do not
discount anything which Inspeaeur Re-
nouard may say. He is no alarmist, as I
very well know. Eh bien, you may be
right. But in the meantime, a little pre-
paredness can do no harm.”

2. Doctor Sun Leaves His Card

A t my invitation the Inspeaor agreed
cto make my house his headquarters,
and it was arranged that he and de Gran-
din share the same room. Midnight had
long since struck when we bid the McDou-
gals adieu, and began our twenty-mile
drive to the city. "Remember, you’re all
invited here Christmas evening,” Moneen
reminded us at parting. 'Tmexpeaing my
sister Avis down from Holyoke and I
know she’d love to meet you.”

We left the fog behind us as we drove
northward from the ocean, and the night
was clear and cold as we whizzed through
Susquehanna Avenue to my house.

"That’s queer,” I muttered as I bent
to insert my latchkey in the lock. "Some-
body must know you’re here, Inspeaor.
Here’s a note for you.” I picked up the
square, white envelope which had dropped
as I thrust the door open and put it in his
hand.

He turned the folder over and over, in-

WEffiD TALES

speaing the clear-cut, boldly written
inscription, looking in vain for a clue to
the sender. "Who can know — ^who could
suspeathat I am arrived?” he began won-
deringly, but de Grandin interrupted with
a chuckle.

"You are incurably the deteaive, mon
Georges,” he rallied. "You receive a let-
ter. 'Parbleu, who can have sent this?’
you ask you, and thereupon you examine
the address, you take tests of the ink, you
consult handwriting experts. 'This is
from a lady,’ you say to yourself, 'and
from the angle of the letters in her writ-
ing I am assured she is smitten by my
manly beauty.’ Thereupon you open the
note, and find what? TTiat it is a bill for
long-overdue charges on your laundry,
cordieu! G)me, open it, great stupid-
head. How otherwise are you to learn
from whom it comes?”

"Silence, magpie!” Renouard retorted,
his pale face flushing under de Grandin’s
modcery. "We shall see — mon Dieu,
look!”

The envelope contained a single sheet
of dull white paper folded in upon itself
to form a sort of frame in whidi there
rested a neatly engraved gentleman’s vis-
iting-card:

Dr. Sun Ah Poy

Saigon

That was all, no other script, or print.

"Eh bien, he is impudent, that one!”
de Grandin exclaimed, bending over his
friend’s shoulder to inspea the missive.
"Parbleu, he laughs at our faces, but I
think all the cards are not yet played. We
shall see who laughs at whom before this
game is ended, for ”

He broke oJQF abruptly, head thrown
back, delicate nostrils contraaing and ex-
panding alternately as he sniffed the air
suspiciously. "Do you, too, get it?” he
asked, turning from Renouard to me in-
quiringly.

"I think I smell some sort of perfume.

but I can’t quite place it ” I began,

but his exclamation cut me short.

"Drop it, mon vieux — unhand it, right
away, at once; immediately!” he cried,
seixing Renouard’s wrist and fairly shak-
ing the card from his grasp. "Ah — so;
permit it to remain there,” he continued,
staring at the upturned square of paste-
board. "Trowbridge, Renouard, mes
amis, I suggest you stand back — ^mount
chairs — ^keep your feet well off the floor.
So! That is better!”

We stared at him in open-mouthed
astonishment as he barked his staccato or-
ders, but as he matched command with
obedience and mounted a chair himself
after the manner of a timid housewife
who sights a mouse, we followed suit.

From the shaft of his gold-headed eb-
ony opera cane he drew the slender, wire-
like sword-blade and swished it once or
twice through the air, as though to test its
edge. "Attend me,” he commanded, fix-
ing his level, unwinking stare on us in
turn. "Like you. Friend Georges, I have
lived in Cambodia. While you were still
among the Riffs in Africa I went to nose
out certain disaffeaions in Annam, and
while there I kept eyes, ears and nose
wide open. Certainly. Tell me, my friend
— think back, think carefully — just what
happened that night in Saigon when you
were beset by spiders?”

Renouard’s bright dark eyes narrowed
in concentration. "My laundry was de-
layed that day,” he answered at length,
"the messenger had good excuses, but my
white xmiforms did not arrive until —
nom d'une pipe — yes! Upon the freshly
starched-and-ironed drill there hung a
faint perfume, such as we smell here and
now!”

"Exactement," de Grandin nodded.
"Me, I recognized him almost imme-
diately, He is a concentrated extraa, or
a synthetic equivalent for the scent ex-
creted by a great — and very poisonous —

THE LOST LADY

Cambodian spider to attraa its mate. I
damn suspeaed something of the kind
when you related your experience at
Monsieur McDougal’s, but I did not put
you to the cross-examination then lest I
frighten our pretty hostess, who had al-
ready received one shock today, of which
I must inform you, but hist, my friends;
regardez!”

Something squat and obscene, some-
thing like a hand amputated at the wrist,
long mummified and overgrown with
spiny prickles, but now endued with some
kind of ghastly after-life which enabled it
to flop and crawl upon bent fingers, came
sliding and slithering across the floor of
the hall, emerging from the darkness of
my consulting-room.

"Ah- ha; ah-ha-ha, Monsieur la Taren-
tule, you have walked into our parlor, it
would seem!” de Grandin cried exultant-
ly. The razor-edged, needle-pointed sword
whistled through the air as he flung it
from his vantage-point upon the chair,
stabbing through the crawling creature’s
globular body and pinning it to the floor.
But still the dry, hairy legs fought and
thrashed as the great spider sought to
drag itself toward the scented card which
lay a yard or so beyond it. "Wriggle,
parbleu," de Grandin invited mockingly
as he dropped from his refuge on the
chair and advanced toward the clawing
monster, "wriggle, writhe and twist. Your
venom will not find human flesh to poi-
son this night. No, pardieu!’’ With a
quidc stamp of his heel he crushed the
thing, withdrew the sword which pin-
i(Mied it to the floor and wiped the steel
upon the rug.

"It was fortimate for us that my nose
and memory co-operated,” he remarked.
"He was clever, your friend Sun, mon
brave, I grant you. The card, all smeared
with perfume as it was, was addressed to
you. Naturally your hands would be the
first to touch it. Had we not aaed as we

did, you would have been a walking in-
vitation to that one” — ^he nodded toward
the spider’s carcass — "and I do not think
he would have long delayed responding.
No. Assuredly you would have moved
when he leaped on you and pouj! tomor-
row, or the next day, or the next day
after that at latest, we should have had
the pleasure of attending a solemn high
mass of requiem for you, for his bite is
very poisonous.”

"You don’t suppose any more of those
things are hiding 'round the house, do
you?” I asked uncomfortably.

"I doubt it,” he returned. "Renouard’s
friend could not have had time to pack
an extensive kit before he left, and spi-
ders and reptiles of the tropics are difficult
to transport, especially in this climate.
No, I think we need have small fear of a
repetition of that visit, tonight, at least.
Also, if there be others, the center of at-
traaion will be the scented card. They
will not trouble us unless we tread on
them.”

F or several minutes after we had
entered the study he sat in silent
thought. At last; "'ITiey can not know
for sure what room you will occupy, mon
Georges,” he remarked, "but the bath-
room is always easily identified. Trow-
bridge, my friend, do you happen to pos-
sess such a thing as a sheet of fly-paper
at this time?”

"Fly-paper?” I asked, astonished.

"But certainly, the stuff with which
one catches flies,” he answered, going
through the pantomime of a luckless fly
alighting on a sheet of tanglefoot and
becoming enmeshed on it.

"I hardly think so,” I replied, "but we
can look in the pantry. If Nora had any
left over in the autumn she probably
stored it there.”

We searched the pantry shelves as pros-

WEIRD TALES

peaors might hunt the hills for gold. At
last, "Triomphe," de Grandin called from
his perch upon a step-ladder. "Eureka, I
have found it!” From the uppermost
shelf he dragged a packet of some half a
dozen sticky sheets.

We warmed the stuff at the furnace
door, and when its adhesive surface was
softened to his satisfaaion de Grandin
led us to the bathroom. Stealthily he
pushed the door open, dropped a double
row of fly-paper on the tiled floor, then
with the handle of a mop began explor-
ing the recesses beneath the tub and
behind the washstand.

We had not long to wait. Almost at
the second thrust of the mop-handle a
faint, almost soundless hissing noise, like
steam escaping from a gently boiling ket-
tle came to us, and as he probed again
something like a length of old-fashioned
hair watch-chain seemed to uncoil itself
upon the white-tile floor and slither with
the speed of light aaoss the room. It was
a dainty little thing, no thicker than a
lead-pencil and scarcely longer, prettily
marked with alternating bands of black,
yellow and red.

"Sacre nom!” Renouard exclaimed. "Le
drapeau Allemand!"

De Grandin bent still farther forward,
thrust his stick fairly at the tiny, writhing
reptile and endeavored to crush its small,
flat head against the wall. The thing
dodged with incredible quickness, and so
swiftly I could scarcely follow its motion
with my eye, struck once, twice, three
times at the wood, and I watched it won-
deringly, for it did not coil to strike, but
bent its head quickly from side to side,
like a steel spring suddenly set vibrating
by the touch of a finger.

"You see?” he asked simply, still prod-
ding at the flashing, scaly thing.

Although his efforts to strike it were
unsuccessful, his strategy was well
planned, for though it dodged his flailing

stick with ease, the snake came ever
nearer to the barricade of fly-paper which
lay before the door. At last it streaked
forward, passed fairly over the sticky
paper, then gradually slowed down,
writhed impotently a moment, then lay
still, its little red mouth gaping, lambent
tongue flickering from its lips like a
wind-blown flame, low, almost inaudible
hisses issuing from its throat.

"You have right, my friend, it is 'the
German flag,’ so called because it bears
the German national colors in its mark-
ings," he told Renouard. "A tiny thing
it is, yet so venomous that the lightest
prick of its fangs means certain death,
for aid can not be given quickly enough
to counteraa its poison in the blood.
Also it can strike, as you noticed, and
strike again without necessity for coiling.
One has but to step on or even near it in
darkness, or in light, for that matter —
and he is lucky if its venom allows him
time to make his tardy peace with heaven.
It is of the order elapidae, this little, poi-
son thing, a small but worthy cousin of
the king cobra, the death adder and the
tiger snake of Australia.”

He bore the fly-paper with its helpless
prisoner to the cellar and flung it into the
furnace. "Exeunt omnes," he remarked
as the flames destroyed the tiny cylinder
of concentrated death. "Die you must
eventually. Friend Georges, but it was not
written that you should die by snake-bite
this night. No. Your friend Doctor Sun
is clever, but so is Jules de Grandin, and
I am here. Come, let us go to bed. It is
most fatiguing, this oversetting of Doc-
tor Sun’s plans for your American recep-
tion, my friend.”

3. A Lost Lady

T he day dawned crisp and cold, with
a tang of frost and hint of snow in
the air. My guests were in high spirits,
and did ample justice to the panned sole.

THE LOST LADY

waflSes and honey in the comb which
Nora McGinnis had prepared for break-
fast. Renouard, particularly, was in a
happy mood, for the joy the born man-
hunter takes in his work was fairly over-
flowing in him as he contemplated the
game of hide-and-seek about to com-
mence.

"First of all,” he announced as he
scraped the last remaining spot of honey
from his plate, "I shall call at the prefec-
ture de police and present my credentials.
They will help me; they will recognize
me. Yes.”

"Undoubtlessly they will recognize
you, mon enfant," de Grandin agreed
with a nod. "None could fail to do so.”

Renouard beamed, but I discerned the
hidden meaning of de Grandin’s state-
ment, and had all I could do to keep a
sober face. Innate good taste, cosmo-
politan experience and a leaning toward
the English school of tailoring marked
Jules de Grandin simply as a more than
ordinarily well-dressed man wherever he
might be; Renouard, by contrast, could
never be mistaken for other than what
he was, an efficient officer of the gendar-
merie out of uniform, and the trade mark
of his nationality was branded indelibly
on him. His rather snugly fitting suit was
that peculiarly horrible shade of blue
beloved of your true Frenchman, his shirt
was striped with alternate bands of blue
and white, his cravat was a thing to give
a haberdasher a violent headache, and his
patent leather boots with their round
rubber heels tapered to sharp and most
uncomfortable-looking points.

"But of course,” he told us, "I shall
say to them, 'Messieurs, if you have here
a stout fellow capable of assisting me, I
beg you will assign him to this case. I
greatly desire the assistance of ”

"Sergeant Costello,” Nora McGinnis
announced as she appeared in the break-

fast room door, the big, red-headed Irish
detective towering behind her.

"Ah, welcome, mon vieux," de Gran-
din cried, rising and extending a cordial
hand to the caller. "A Merry Christmas
to you.”

"An’ th’ same to ye, sor, an’ ye, too,
gentlemen,” Costello returned, favoring
Renouard and me with a rather sickly
grin.

"How now.? You do not say it heart-
ily,” de Grandin said as he turned to in-
troduce Inspeaor Renouard. "You are in
trouble? Good. Tell us; we shall un-
doubtlessly be able to assist you.”

"I’m hopin’ so, sor,” the Sergeant re-
turned as he drew up a chair and accepted
a cup of steaming coffee. "I’m afther
needin’ help this mornin’.”

"A robbery, a murder, blackmail, kid-
napping?” de Grandin ran through the
catalogue of crime. "Which is it, or is it
a happy combination of all?”

"Mebbe so, sor. I’m not quite sure yet
meself,” Costello replied. "Ye see, ’twas
early this mornin’ it happened, an’ I ain’t
got organized yet, so to speak. It were
like this, sor;

“A Miss Brindell come over to Har-
risonville on th’ six o’clock train. She
wuz cornin’ to visit her sister who lives
down on th’ South Shore, an’ they hadn’t
expected her so early, so there’s no one to
meet her when she gits to th’ station.
She knows about where her brother-in-
law’s house is over to Mary’s Landin’, so
she hops in a taxi an’ starts there. ’Twere
a twenty-mile drive, sor, but she’s satis-
fied wid th’ price, so th’ cabby don’t
argue none wid her.

"Well, sors, th’ taxi has hardly started
from th’ depot when alongside runs an-
other car, crowds ’im to th’ curb an’
dishes his wheel. Th’ cabby ain’t too well
pleased wid that, ye may be sure, so he
starts to get down an’ express his opinion

WEIRD TALES

o’ th’ felly as done it when wham! sumpin
liits him on th’ coco an’ he goes down
fer th’ count.”

'The comte?” Renouard interjeaed.
"Where was this nobleman, and why
should the chauffeur descend for him?”

"Silence, mon brave, it is an American
idiom, I will explain later,” de Grandin
bade. To Costello: "Yes, my Sergeant,
and what then?”

"Well, sor, th’ next thing th’ pore
felly knows he’s in Casualty Horspittle
wid a bandage round his head an’ his
cab’s on th’ way to th’ police pound. He
tells us he had a second’s look at th’ guy
that crowned ’im, an ”

"I protest!” Renouard broke in. "I
understood you said he was struck with a
massue, now I am told he was crowned.
It is most confus ”

"Imbecile, be silent!” de Grandin or-
dered savagely. "Because you speak the
English is no reason for you to flatter
yourself that you understand American.
Later I shall instrua you. Meantime,
keep fast hold upon your tongue while
we talk. Proceed, Sergeant, if you please.”

"He got a glimpse o’ di’ felly that K.
O.’d him, sor, an’ he swore it were a
Chinaman. We’re holdin’ ’im, sor, for
his story seems fishy to me. I’ve been on
th’ force, harness bull an’ fly cop, since
th’ days when Teddy Roos-velt — ^d rest
his noble soul! — wuz President, an’
though we’ve a fair-sized Chinatown here
an’ th’ monks gits playful now an’ then
an’ shoots each other up or carves their
initials in each other wid meat-cleavers.
I’ve never known ’em to mix it wid white
folks, an’ never in me livin’ days have I
heard of ’em stealin’ white gur-rls, sor. I
know they tells some funny tales on ’em,
but me personal experience has been that
th’ white gur-rls as goes wid a Chinaman
goes o’ their own free will an’ accord an’
not because annybody steals ’em. So ”

"What is it you say, she was kid-
napped?” de Grandin interrupted.

"Looks kind o’ that way, sor. We can’t
find hide nor hair o’ her, an’ ”

"But you know her name. How is
that?”

"'That’s part o’ th’ funny business, sor.
Her grips an’ even her handbag wuz all
in th’ taxi when we went through it, an’
in ’em we found letters to identify her as
Miss Avis Brindell, who’d come to visit
her brother-in-law an’ sister, Mr. an’
Mrs. Dougal McDougal, at their house at
Mary’s Landin’; so "

"Norn d’un chou-fleur, do you tell me
so?” de Grandin gasped. "Madame Mc-
DougaTs sister kidnapped by Orientals?
Ha, can it be possible? One wonders.”

"What’s that, sor?”

"I think your taximan is innocent, my
friend, but I am glad you have him read-
ily available,” de Grandin answered.
"Come, let us go interview him right
away, immediately; at once.”

M r. Sylvester McCarty, driver of
Purple Cab 188672, was in a far
from happy frame of mind when we
found him in the detention ward of Cas-
ualty Hospital. His day had started in-
auspiciously with the wreck of his
machine, the loss of a more than usually
large fare, considerable injury to his per-
son, finally with the indignity of arrest.
"It’s a weepin’ shame, that’s what it is!”
he told us as he finished the recital of his

woes. "I’m an honest man, sir, an’ ’

"Agreed, by all means,” de Grandin
interrupted soothingly. "That is why we
come to you for help, my old one. Tell
us, if you will, just what occurred this
morning — describe the cowardly mis-
creant who struck you down before you
had a chance to voice your righteous in-
dignation. I am sure we can arrange for
your release from durance.”

THE LOST LADY

McCarty brightened. "It’s hard to tell
you much about it, sir,” he answered, "fer
it all happened to quick-like I hardly had
time to git me bearin’s. After I’m
crowded to th’ curb an’ me wheel’s
dished, I sees th’ other car is jammed
right smack agin me, an’ just as I turns
round I hears me fare holler, 'Leave me
be; take yer hands off’n me!’

"Wid that I jumps down an’ picks up
me crank-handle, fer if there’s goin to be
a argyment, I figures on bein’ prepared.
I on’y gits one eye-flash at ’em, though,
sir. There’s a queer-lookin’ sort o’ gink
settin’ at th’ wheel o’ th’ other car — a
brown-faced guy, not colored nor yet not
quite like a Chinee, but more like some o’
them Fillypinos ye see around some-
times, ye know. He’s all mufiled up in a
fur coat, wid th’ collar turned up around
his chin an’ his cap pulled down over his
eyes, so I can’t git much of a slant on him.
But just as I starts in to tell him what
sort o’ people I think his family wtiz, up
hops another coffee-an’ -cream-colored
son-of-a-gun an’ zingo! let’s me have a
bop over th’ bean that makes me see all
th’ stars there is, right in broad daylight.
I goes over like th’ kingpin when a feller
rolls a strike, but just before I goes to
sleep I sees th’ guy that smacked me
down an’ another one hustlin’ th’ young
lady out o’ me cab into th’ other car; then
th’ chauffeur steps on her an’ rolls away,
leavin’ me flatter’n a pancake. Then I
goes out like a light an’ th’ next thing I
knows I’m layin’ here in th’ horsepittle
wid a bandage round me dome an’ th’
nurse is sayin’, 'Sit up, now, an’ drink
this.’ ”

"U’m?” de Grandin regarded him
gravely. "And did you notice the make
of car which fouled you?”

"Not rightly, sir. But it was big an’
long — a limousine. I thought it wu 2 a
Rolls, though it might o’ been a Renault

or Issotta — I don’t think it wuz an Amer-
ican car.”

"Very good. And one presumes it is
too much to hope you had opportunity to
note the number?”

"I did that, sir. We gits camera-eyed
in this racket, an’ th’ first thing we do
when any one fouls us is to look at his
number. It’s second nature.”

"Ah, fine, excellent, parfait. Tell

"X 11 - 7734, sir. Jersey plates.”

"Ah, my prince of chauffeurs, I salute
you! Assuredly, it was nobly done! Ser-
geant, you will surely let him go now?”

"Sure,” Costello grunted. "You can
run along, feller; but don’t try any hide-
away business. We’ll know where to git
ye when we want ye, don’t forgit.”

"Sure, you will,” Mr. McCarty assured
him earnestly. "Right by th’ depot, chief.
I’m there ter meet all th’ trains.”

"An’ now fer th’ number,” Costello
chuckled. "Bedad, Doaor de Grandin,
sor, this case is easier than I thought. I’m
sorry I bothered ye wid it, now.”

"Not too fast, my friend,” the French-
man counseled. "'The prudent cat does
not mistake all that is white for milk.”

Five minutes later Costello returned
from a telephone conversation with the
license bureau. "I reckon I wuz all wet,
Doaor de Grandin,” he admitted rue-
fully. "X 11 - 7734 is th’ plate o’ Glea-
son’s Grocery car. It’s a Ford delivery
truck, an’ its plates wuZ stolen last night
whilst it was standin’ in front o’ th’
store.”

4. Poltergeist?

F or a moment we stared at each other
in blank consternation. "Que diable?”
swore Renouard, grasping his tuft of
beard and jerking it so violently that I
feared for his chin.

"Looks that way,” Costello nodded dis-

WEIRD TALES

mally, understanding the Frenchman’s
tone, if not his words.

"Sucre notn de dix mille sales cochons!”
de Grandin exclaimed. "Why do we
stand here looking ourselves out of coun-
tenance like a convention of petrified
bullfrogs in the Musee de I’Histoire
Naturelle? Let us be doing!”

"Sez you,” Costello responded. "Doin’
what, sor?”

"Finding them, pardieu. Consider:
Their appearance was bizarre enough to
be noted by the excellent Monsieur Mc-
Carty, even in the little minute between
the collision of their vehicle and his and
the blow which struck him senseless.
Very well. Will not others notice them
likewise? I think so. 'They have not been
here long, there has been small time to
acquire a base of operations, yet they
must have one. They must have a house,
probably not far from here. Very good.
Let us find the house and we shall have
found them and the missing lady, as
well.”

"All right. I’ll bite,” Costello ofiFered.
"What’s di’ answer to that one?”

"Cordieu, it is so simple even you
should see it!” the Frenchman retorted.
"It is like this: They have scarcely had
time to consummate a purchase; besides,
that would be wasteful, for they require
only a temporary abode. Very well, then,
what have they done? Rented a house,
n’est-ce-pas? I think likely. We have,
then, but to set a corps of energetic in-
vestigators to the task of soliciting the
realty agents of the city, and when one
tells us he has let a house to an Oriental
gentleman — voila, we have him in our
net. Certainly.”

"Sure, it sounds O. K.,” Costello
agreed, "but th’ only thing wrong wid it
is it won’t work. Just because th’ assist-
ant villains who kidnapped th’ pore little
lady this momin’ wuz a lot o’ monkey-

faced chinks is no sign th’ head o’ th’
gang’s one, too. ’Tis more likely he’s a
white man tisin' Chinese to do his dirty

work so’s he’ll not be suspeaed, an’ ”

"And it is entirely probable that pigs
would fly like birds, had they the neces-
sary wings,” de Grandin interrupted bit-
ingly. “I say no! Me, I know — at least
I damn suspea — ^what all this devil’s
business means, and I am sure an Oriental
is not only the head, but the brains of
this crew of apaches, as well. Come, tnon
fils, do as I say. We shall succeed. We
must succeed.”

Dubiously Costello agreed, and two
officers at headquarters were given copies
of the classified telephone direaory and
bidden go down the list of real estate
agents systematically, ’phoning each and
inquiring whether he had rented a dwell-
ing to a Chinese gentleman during the
past week or ten days. Meantime de
Grandin smoked innumerable cigarettes
and related endless risque stories to the
great edification of the policemen loung-
ing in the squad room. I excused myself
and hurried to the office, for consulting
hours had come, and I could not neglea
my praaise.

T he seasonal number of coryza cases
presented themselves for treatment
and I was wondering whether I might
cut short the consultation period, since no
more applicants for Seiler’s solution and
Dover’s powder seemed imminent, when
a young man hurried into the office. Tall,
lean, siui-bitten till he almost resembled
a Malay, he was the kind of chap one
took to instantly. A scrubbed-with-cold-
water cleanliness and vigor showed in
every line of his spare face and figure,
his challenging, you-be-damned look was
softened by the humorous curve of the
wide, thin-lipped mouth beneath his daric,
close-clipped mustache. Only the lines of

THE LOST LADY

habit showed htimor now, however, for
an expression of keen anxiety was on his
features as he advanced toward me. “I
don’t know whether you’ll remember me
or not, Doaor Trowbridge,” he opened
while still ten feet from me, “but you’re
one of my earliest recolleaions. I’m
Archy Hildebrand. My father ”

"Why, surely I remember you, son,” I
returned, "though I don’t know I’d have
recognized you. We were talking about
you last night.”

"Were, eh?” he answered grimly.
“Suppose you particularized concerning
how many different kinds of a fool I’ve

made of myself? Well, let me tell

_ >»
you

“Not at all,” I cut in as I noted the
quick anger hardening in his eyes. "A
French gentleman from Saigon was out
to McDougal’s last night, and he hap-
pened to mention your romance, and we
were all greatly interested. He seemed to
think ”

'Was he a policeman?” Archy inter-
rupted eagerly.

“Why — er — yes, I suppose you might
call him that. He’s an inspeaor in the
SHrete General, and ”

“Thank the Lord! Maybe he’ll be able
to help us. But I need you, first, sir.”

“What’s the matter?” I began, but he
literally dragged me toward the door.

“It’s Thi-bah, my wife, sir. I met her
in Cambodia and married her in France.
No time to go into particulars now, but
she — ^she’s in a bad way, sir, and I wish
you’d see her as soon as you can. It
seems like some sort of eruption, and it’s
dreadfully painful. Won’t you come
now, tight away?”

"Mms certainement, right away, imme-
diately,” de Grandin assured him, appear-
ing with the abrupmess of a phantom at
the consulting-room door. “We shall be
most happy to place ourselves at the entire

disposal of Madame, your wife, young
Monsieur."

As Hildebrand stared at him in open-
mouthed astonishment, he explained: “I
have but just entered the house, and it
was impossible for me not to overhear
what you said to Doaor Trowbridge. I
have had much experience with the
obscure diseases of the Orient, whence
Madame Hildebrand came, and I am sure
I shall be of assistance to Friend Trow-
bridge, if you do not objea to my enter-
ing the case with him?” He paused on a
questioning note and regarded Ardty
with a frank, disarming smile.

“Delighted to have you,” I put in
before the younger man could express an
opinion. “I know you’ll be glad of Doc-
tor de Grandin’s assistance, too, Archy,"
I added.

“Certainly,” he agreed. “Only hurry,
please, gentlemen. She may be suffering
another attack right now, and she’s so
lonely without me — I’m the only one who
understands her, you see.”

We nodded sympathetically as we left
the house, and a moment later I had
headed the car toward the Hildebrand
mansion.

“Perhaps you can give us a description
of Madame’ s malady?” de Grandin asked
as we spun along.

Archy flushed beneath his coat of tan.
“I’m afraid it’ll be hard to tell you,” he
returned slowly. “You know” — he
paused a moment, then continued in evi-
dent embarrassment — "if such a thing
were possible. I’d say she’s the viaim of
a poltergeist."

“Eh, what is it you say?” the French-
man demanded sharply.

The young man misunderstood his
query. “A poltergeist," he returned.
“I’ve seen what they declared to be their
work in the Black Forest distria of Ger*
( Continued on page 130)

THE HORROR
FROM THE HILLS

By FRANK BELKNAP LONG, JR.

’A goose-flesh story of cosmic

from

1. The Coming of the Stone Beast

I N A long, low-ceilinged room
adorned with Egyptian, Graeco-
Roman, Minoan and Assyrian antiq-
uities a thin, careless-seeming young man
of twenty-six sat jubilantly humming.
As nothing in his appearance or manner
suggested the scholar — ^he wore gray
tweeds of collegiate cut, gray spats,
striped blue shirt and collar and a ridicu-
lously brilliant cravat — the uninitiated
were inclined to regard him as a mere
supernumerary in his own office. Stran-
gers entered unannounced and called him
"young man” at least twenty times a
week, and he was frequently asked to
convey messages to a non-existent supe-
rior. No one suspeaed, no one dreamed
until he enlightened them, that he was
the lawful custodian of the objeas about
him; and even when he revealed his iden-
tity people surveyed him with distrust and
were inclined to suspea that he was iron-
ically pulling their legs.

Algernon Harris was the young man’s
name and graduate degrees from Yale
and Oxford set him distinctly apart from
the undistinguished majority. But it is
to his credit that he never paraded his
erudition, nor succumbed to the impulse
— almost irresistible in a young man with
academic affiliations — ^to put a Ph.D. on
the title page of his first book.

It was this book which had endeared
him to the direaors of the Manhattan
Museum of Fine Arts and prompted their
32

menace — a stone idol brought
China

unanimous choice of him to succeed the
late Halpin Qialmers as Curator of Ar-
cheology when the latter retired in the fall
of 1929.

In less than six months young Harris
had exhaustively familiarized himself
with the duties and responsibilities of his
office and was becoming the most success-
ful curator that the museum had ever em-
ployed. So boyishly ebullient was he, so
consumed with investigative zeal, that his
field workers contracted his enthusiasm as
though it were a kind of fever and sped
from his presence to trust their scholarly
and invaluable lives to slant-eyed fero-
cious Orientals, and gibbering hairy In-
dians, and ‘entirely naked black men on
the most detestable crustal seaions of our
planet.

And now they were coming back — for
days now they had been coming back —
occasionally with haggard faces, and once
or twice, luifortunately, with something
radically wrong with them. The Symons
tragedy was a case in point. Symons
was a Chang Dynasty specialist, and he
had been obliged to leave his left eye and
a piece of his nose in a Buddhist temple
near a place called Fen Chow Fu. But
when Algernon questioned him he could
only mumble something about a small
malignant face with corpsy eyes that had
glared and glared at him out of a purple
mist. And Francis Hogarth lost eighty
pounds and a perfectly good right arm
somewhere between Lake Rudolph and
Naivasha in British East Africa.

W. T .— 2

THE HORROR FROM THE HILLS

But a few inexplicable and hence, from
a scientific point of view, unfortunate
occurrences were more than compensated
for by the archeological treasures that the
successful explorers brought back and
figuratively dumped at Algernon’s feet.
There were mirrors of Graeco-Baarian
design and miniature tiger-dragons or
tao-tiehs from Central China dating from
at least 200 B. C., enormous diorite
Sphinxes from the Valley of the Nile,
"Geometric” vases from Mycenaean Crete,
incised pottery from Messina and Syra-
cuse, linens and spindles from the Swiss
Lakes, sculptured lintels from Yucatan
and Mexico, Mayan and Manabi mono-
liths ten feet tall, Paleolithic Venuses
from the rode caverns of the Pyrenees,
and even a series of rare bilingual tablets
in Hamitic and Latin from the site of
Carthage.

It is not surprizing that so splendid a
W. T.— 3

garnering should have elated Algernon
immoderately and impelled him to be-
have like a schoolboy. He addressed the
attendants by their first names, slapped
them boisterously upon their shoulders
whenever they had occasion to approach
him, and went roaming haphazardly
about the building immersed in ecstatic
reveries. So far indeed did he descend
from his pedestal that even the directors
were disturbed, and it is doubtful if any-
thing short of the arrival of Clark Ulman
could have jolted him out of it.

Ulman may have been aware of this,
for he telephoned first to break the news
mercifully. He had apparently heard of
the success of the other expeditions and
hated infernally to intrude his skeleton at
the banquet. Algernon, as we have seen,
was humming, and the jingling of a
phone-bell at his elbow was the first inti-
mation he had of Ulman’s return. Has-

WEIRD TALES

tily detaching the receiver he pressed it
against his ear and injeaed a staccato
“What is it?” into the mouthpiece.

There ensued a silence. Then Ulman’s
voice, disconcertingly shrill, smote un-
pleasantly upon his tympaniun. ‘Tve got
the god, Algernon, and I’ll be over with
itdirealy. I’ve three men helping me. It’s
four feet high and as heavy as granite. Oh,
it’s a strange, loathsome thing, Algernon.
An unholy thing. I shall insist that you
destroy it!”

“What’s that?” Algernon raised his
voice incredulously.

“You may photograph it and study it,
but you’ve got to destroy it. You’ll im-
derstand when you see what — what I
have become!"

There came a hoarse sobbing, whilst
Algernon struggled to comprehend what
the other was driving at.

"It has wreaked its malice on me — on

With a frown Algernon put up the
receiver and began agitatedly to pace the
room, '"rhe elephant-god of Tsang!”
he muttered to himself. "The horror
Richardson drew before — before they im-
paled him. It’s imbelievable. Ulman
has crossed the desert plateau on foot —
he’s crossed above the graves of Steel-
brath, Talman, McWilliams, Henley and
Holmes. Richardson swore the cave was
guarded night and day by leprous yellow
abnormalities. I’m sure that’s the phrase
he used — abnormalities without faces —
fetid beast-men in thrall to some malign
wizardry. He averred they moved in cir-
cles about the idol on their hands and
knees, and participated in a rite so foul
that he dared not describe it.

“His escape was a sheer miracle. He
was a 'stout fellow;’ it was merely be-
cause they couldn’t kill him that the priest
was impressed. A man who can curse
valiantly after three days of agonizing
torture must of necessity be a great magi-

cian and wonder-worker. But it couldn’t
have happened twice. Ulman could
never have achieved such a break. He
is too frail — a day on their cross would
have finished him. 'They would never
have released him and decked him out
with flowers and worshipped him as a
sort of subsidiary elephant-god. Richard-
son prediaed that no other white man
would ever get into the cave alive. And
as for getting out

"I can’t imagine how Ulman did it.
If he encountered even a few of Rich-
ardson’s beast-men it isn’t surprizing he
broke down on the phone. 'Destroy the
statue!’ Imagine! Sheer insanity, that.
Ulman is evidently in a highly nervous
and excitable state and we shall have to
handle him with gloves.”

HERE came a knock at the door.

"I don’t wish to be disturbed,”
shouted Algernon irritably.

"We’ve got a package for you, sir.
The doorman said for us to bring it up
here.”

"Oh, all right. I’ll sign for it.”

’The door swimg wide and in walked
three shabbily dressed men staggering
beneath a heavy burden.

"Put it down there,” said Algernon,
indicating a spot to the rear of his desk.

The men complied with a celerity that
amazed him.

"Did Mr. Ulman send you?” he de-
manded curtly.

"Yes, sir.” The spokesman’s face had
formed into a molding of relief, '"rhe
poor gentleman said he’d be here hisself
in half an hour.”

Algernon started. "Why do you say
'poor gentleman’?” he demanded.

The spokesman shufiled his feet. "It’s
on account of his face, sir. There’s
something wrong with it. He keeps it
covered and won’t let nobody look at it.”

THE HORROR FROM THE HILLS

"Good God!” murmured Algernon.
"They’ve mutilated him!”

"WTiat’s that, sir? What did you
say?”

Algernon colleaed himself with an ef-
fort. "Nothing. You may go now.
The doorman will give you a dollar. I’ll
phone down and tell him to give you a
dollar.”

Silently the men filed out. As soon
as the door closed behind them Algernon
strode into the center of the room and
began feverishly to strip the wrappings
from the thing on the floor. He worked
with manifest misgivings, the distaste in
his eyes deepening to disgust and horror
as the loathly form came into view.

Words can not adequately convey the
repulsiveness of the thing. It was en-
dowed with a trunk and great, uneven
ears, and two enormous tusks protruded
from the comers of its mouth. But it
was not an elephant. It was not even
very closely analogous to an elephant.
For the ears were webbed and teptacled,
the trunk terminated in a huge flaring
disk at least a foot in diameter, and the
tusks, which intertwined and interlocked
at the base of the statue, were as pellucid
as glass.

'The pedestal upon which it squatted
was of black onyx: the statue itself, with
the exception of the tusks, had appar-
ently be^ chiseled from a single block
of stone, and was so hideously mottled
and eroded and discolored that it looked,
in spots, as though it had been dipped in
sanies.

'The thing sat bolt upright. Its fore-
limbs were bent stiffly at the elbow, and
its hands — it had human hands — rested
palms upward on its lap. Its shoulders
were broad and square and its breasts
and enormous stomach sloped outward,
cushioning the trunk. It was as quies-
cent as a Buddha, as enigmatical as a
sphinx, and as malignantly poised as a

gorgon or cockatrice. Algernon could
not identify the stone out of which it had
been hewn, and its greenish sheen dis-
turbed and puzzled him.

For a moment he stood staring uncom-
fortably into its little malign eyes. Then
he shivered, and taking down a muffler
from the coat-rack in the corner he
cloaked securely the features which re-
pelled him.

U LMAN arrived unannoimced. He ad-
vanced imobtrusively into the room
and laid a tremulous hand on Algernon’s
shoulder. "Well, Algernon, how are
you?” he murmured. "I — I’m glad to
get back. Just to see — an old friend —
is a comfort. J thought — but, well it
doesn’t matter. I was going to ask — to
ask if you knew a good physician, but

perhaps — I — I ’ ’

Startled, Algernon glanced backward
over his shoulder and straight into the
other’s eyes. He saw only the eyes, for
the rest of Ulman’s face was muffled by
a black silk scarf. "Clark!” he ejacu-
lated. "By God, sir, but you gave me a
start!”

Rising quickly, he sent his chair spin-
ning against the wall and gripped his
friend cordially by the shoulders. "It is
good to see you again, Clark,” he mur-
mured. "It is good — why, what is the
matter?”

Ulman had fallen upon his knees and
was choking and gasping for breath.

"I should have warned you — not to
touch me,” he moaned. "I can’t stand
— being touched.”

"But why ”

"The wounds haven’t healed,” he
sobbed. "It doesn’t want them to heal.
Every night it comes and lays — the disk
on them. I can’t stand being touched.”

Algernon nodded sympathetically. "I
can imagine what you’ve been throu^,
Clark,” he said. "You must take a va-

WEIRD TALES

cation. I shall have a talk with the di-
reaofs about you tomorrow. In view of
what you’ve done for us I’m sure I can
get you at least four months. You can
go to Spain and finish your Glimpses into
Pre-History. Paleontological anthropol-
ogy is a soothing science, Clark. You’ll
forget all about the perplexities of mere
archeological researA when you start
poking about among bones and artifaas
that haven’t been disturbed since the
Pleistocence.”

Ulman had gotten to his feet and was
staring at the opposite wall.

"You think that I have become — irre-
sponsible?”

A look of sadness crept into Alger-
non’s eyes. "No, Clark. I think you
are merely suffering from — from visual
hallucinations. A heavy neurasthenia,
you know, can cause such illusions,
and considering what you’ve been
through ”

"What I've been through!” Ulman
caught at the phrase. "Would it inter-
est you to know precisely what they did
to me?”

"Yes, Clark. I wish to hear every-
thing.”

"They said that I must accompany
Chaugnar Faugn into the world.”

"Chaugnar Faugn?”

"That is the name they worship it by.
When I told them I had come from
America they said that Great Chaugnar
had willed that I should be his compan-
ion.

" 'It must be carried,’ they explained,
'and it must be nursed. If it is nursed
and carried safely beyond the rising sun
it will possess the world. And then all
things that are now in the world, all
creatures and plants and stones will be
devoured by Great Chaugnar. All things
that are and have been will cease to be,
and Great Chaugnar will fill all space
with its Oneness. Even its Brothers it

will devour, its Brothers who will come
down from the mountains ravening for
ecstasy when it calls to them.’

"I didn’t protest when they explained
this to me. It was precisely the Idnd of
break I had been hoping for. I had read
Richardson’s book, you see, and I had
gleaned enough between the lines to con-
vince me that Chaugnar Faugn’s devotees
were growing a little weary of it. It
isn’t a very pleasant deity to have around.
It has some regrettable and very nasty
habits.”

A horror was taking shape in Ulman’s
eyes.

"You must excuse my levity. When
one is tottering on the edge of an abyss
it isn’t always expedient to dispense with
irony. Were I to become wholly serious
for a moment, were I to let the — ^what I
believe, what I know to be the truth be-
hind all that I am telling you coalesce in-
to a definite concept in my mind I should
go quite mad. Let us call them merely
regrettable habits.

"I guessed, as I say, that the guardians
of the cave were not very enthusiastic
about retaining Chaugnar Faugn indef-
initely. It made — depredations. The
guardians would disappear in the night
and leave their clothes behind them, and
the clothes, upon examination, would
yield something only remotely analogous.

"But however much your savage may
want to dispose of his god the thing isn’t
always feasible. It would be the height
of folly to attempt to send an omnipotent
deity on a long journey without adequate
justification. An angered god can take
vengeance even when he is on the oppo-
site side of the world. And that is why
most barbarians who find themselves sad-
dled with a deity they fear and hate are
obliged to put up with it indefinitely.

"The only thing that can help them is
a legend — some oral or written legend
that will enable them to send their ogre

THE HORROR FROM THE HILLS

packing without ruffling its temper. The
devotees had such a legend. At a cer-
tain time, which the prophecy left grati-
fyingly indefinite, Chaugnar Faugn was
to be sent out into the world. It was to
be sent out to possess the world to its
everlasting glory, and it was also written
that those who sent it forth should be
forever immune from its ire.

"I knew of the existence of this legend,
and when I read Richardson and discov-
ered what a vile and unpleasant customer
the god was I decided I’d risk a trip
across the desert plateau of Tsang.”

"You crossed on foot.^’’ interrupted
Algernon with undisguised admiration.

"There were no camels available,” as-
sented Ulman. "I made it on foot. On
the fourth day my water ran short and I
was obliged to open a vein in my arm.
On the fifth day I began to see mirages —
probably of a purely hallucinatory na-
ture. On the seventh day” — he paused
and stared hard at Algernon — "on the
seventh day I consumed the excrements
of wild dogs.”

Algernon shuddered. "But you
reached the cave.?”

"I reached the cave. The — the face-
less guardians whom Richardson de-
scribed found me groveling on the sands
in delirium a half-mile to the west of
their sanctuary. 'They restored me by
heating a flint until it was white-hot and
laying it on my chest. If the high priest
hadn’t interfered I should have shared
Richardson’s fate.”

"Good God!”

"'The high priest was called Chung Ga
and he was devilishly considerate. He
took me into the cave and introduced me
to Chaugnar Faugn.

"You’ve Chaugnar there,” Ulman
pointed to the enshrouded form on the
floor, "and you can imagine what the
sight of it squatting malignly on its
haunches at the back of an evil-smelling.

atrociously lighted cave would do to a
man who had not eaten for three days.

"I began to say very queer things to
Chung Ga. I confided to him that Great
Chaugnar Faugn was not just a lifeless
statue in a cave, but a great universal god
malignantly filling all space — that it had
created the world in a single instant by
merely expelling its breath, and that
when eventually it decided to inhale, the
world would disappear. 'It also made
this cave,’ I hastened to add, 'and you
are its chosen prophet.’

"The priest stared at me curiously for
several moments without speaking. 'Then
he approached the god and prostrated
himself in ecstasy before it. 'Chaugnar
Faugn,’ he intoned, 'the 'White Acolyte
has confirmed that you are about to be-
come a great universal god filling all
space. He will carry you ijjifely into the
world, and nurse you till you have no
further need of him. ’The prophecy of
Mu Sang has been most gloriously ful-
filled.’

"For several minutes he remained
kneeling at the foot of the idol. 'Then
he rose and approached me. 'You shall
depart with Great Chaugnar tomorrow,’
he said. 'You shall become Great
Chaugnar’s companion and nurse.'

"I felt a wavt of gratitude for the man.
Even in my befuddled state I was sensible
that I had achieved a magnificent break.
'I will serve him gladly,’ I murmured, 'if
only I may have some food.’

"Chung Ga nodded. 'It is my wish
that you eat heartily,’ he said. 'If you
are to nurse Great Chaugnar you must
consume an infinite diversity of fruits.
And the flesh of animals. Red blood —
red blood is Chaugnar’s staff. Without
it my god would swoon, would suffer
tortures unspeakable.’

"He tapped a drum and immediately I
was confronted with a wooden bowl filled
to the brim with pomegranate juice.

WEIRD TALES

" 'Drink heartily,’ he urged. 'I have
reason to suspea that Qiaugnar Faugn
will be ravenous tonight.’

"I was so famished that I scarcely gave
a thought to what he was saying and for
fifteen minutes I consumed without dis-
crimination everything that was set be-
fore me — evil-smelling herbs, ewe’s milk,
eggs, peaches and the fresh blood of an-
telopes.

"The priest watched me in silence. At
last when I could eat no more he went
into a corner of the cave and returned
with a straw mattress. 'You have supped
most creditably,’ he murmured, 'and I
wish you pleasant dreams.’

"With diat he withdrew, and I crawled
gratefully upon the mat. My strength
was wholly spent and the dangers I still
must face, the loathsome proximity of
Great Qiaugnar and the possibility that
the priest had been deliberately playing a
part and would return to kill me, were
swallowed up in a physical urgency that
bordered on delirium. Relaxing upon
the straw I shut my eyes, and fell almost
instantly into a deep sleep.

“T AWOKE with a start and a strange im-
A pression that I was not alone in the
cave. Even before I opened my eyes I
knew diat something unspeakably maEgn
was crouching or squatting on the ground
beside me. I could hear it panting in
the darkness and the stench of it stran-
gled the breath in my throat.

"Slowly, very slowly, I endeavored to
rise. An unsurpassably ponderous weight
descended upon my chest and hurled me
to the ground. I stretched out my hand
to disengage it and met with an iron re-
sistance. A solid wall of something
cold, slimy and implacable rose up in the
darkness to thwart me.

"In an instant I was fully awake and
calling frantically for assistance. But no
one came to me. And even as I

screamed the wall descended perpendicu-
larly upon me and lay clammily upon my
chest. An odor of corruption surged
from it and when I tore at it with my fin-
gers it made a low, gurgling sound,
which gradually increased in volume till
it woke echoes in the low-vaulted ceiling.

"The thing had pinioned my arms, and
the more I twisted and squirmed the
more agonizingly it tightened about me.
The constriaion increased until breath-
ing became a torture, till all my flesh pal-
pitated with pain. I wriggled and twist-
ed, and bit my lips through in an ex-
tremity of horror.

"Then, abruptly, the pressure ceased
and I became aware of two corpsy, viscid
eyes glaring truculently at me through the
darkness. Agonizingly I sat up and ran
my hands over my chest and arms. A
warm wemess slithered through my fin-
gers and with a hideous clarity it was
borne in on me that the thing had been
supping on my blood! 'The revelation
was mind-shattering. With a shriek I
struggled to my feet and went careening
about the cavern.

"A most awful terror was upon me,
and so unreasoning became my desire to
escape from that fearsome, vampirish
obscenity that I retreated straight toward
the throne of Qiaugnar Faugn.

"It loomed enormous in the darkness,
a refuge and a sanctuary. It occurred to
me that if I could scale the throne and
climb upon the lap of the god the horror
might cease to molest me. Foul and
fetid and malignant beyond belief it un-
doubtedly was, but I refused to credit it
with more than animalistic intelligence.
Even in that moment of infinite peril, as
I groped shakingly toward the rear of the
cave, my mind was evolving a conceit to
account for it.

"It was indubitably, I told myself,
some atavistic survival from the age of
reptiles — ^some fell and lumpish abnor-

THE HORROR FROM THE HILLS

mality that had experienced no necessity
to advance on the course of evolution. It
is more than probable that all vertebrated
animals above the level of fishes and am-
phibians originated in Asia, and I had
recklessly conveyed myself to the hoariest
seaion of that detestable continent. Was
it after all so amazing that I should have
encountered, in a dark and inaccessible
cave on a virtually uninhabited plateau,
a reptilian blasphemy endowed with pro-
pensities as mysterious as they were ab-
horrent?

“It was a comfortable conceit and it
sustained me till I reached the throne of
Great Qiaugnar. I fear that up to that
instant my obtuseness had been positively
idiotic. There was only one really ade-
quate explanation for what had occurred,
but not imtil I actually ascended the
throne and began to feel about in the
darkness for the body of Chaugnar did
the truth rush in upon me.

"Great Qiaugnar had forsaken its
throne! It had descended into the cave
and was roaming about in the darkness.
In its execrable peregrinations it had
stumbled upon my sleeping form, had
felled me with its trunk so that it might
detestably sup.

"For an instant I crouched motionless
upon the stone, with a cold horror gnaw-
ing at my vitals. Then, quickly, I began
to descend. But I had not lowered more
than my right leg when something pon-
derous collided with the base of the
throne. The entire structure quivered
and I was almost thrown to the ground.

"I refuse to dwell on what happened
after that. There are experiences too re-
volting for sane description. Were I to
tell how the horror began slobberingly
to mount, to recount at length how it
heaved its slabby and mucid vasmess to
the pinnacle of its throne and began
nauseatingly to breathe upon me, the

doubts you now entertain as to my sanity
would coalesce into certainties.

"Neither shall I describe how it picked
me up in its nasty, fetid hands and began
revoltingly to maul me, and how I nearly
fainted beneath the foulness which
drooled from its mouth and descended
stickily upon me. It is sufficient that
eventually it wearied of its malign sport,
that after sinking its slimy black nails
into my throat, chest and navel till I
shrieked in agony, it experienced a sud-
den access of wrath and hurled me ven-
omously from the pedestal.

"The fall stunned me and for many
minutes I lay on my back on the stones,
dimly conscious only of a furtive whis-
pering in the void about me. Then,
slowly, my vision cleared and imder the
guidance of some nebulous and sinister
influence my eyes were drawn upward
until they encountered the pedestal from
which I had fallen and the enormous,
ropy bulk of Chaugnar Faugn loathsome-
ly waving his great trunk in the dawn.

**TT isn't surprizing that when Chung
J- Ga found me deliriously gibbering
at the cavern’s mouth he was obliged to
carry me into the sunlight and force great
wooden spoonfuls of revivifying wine
down my parched throat. If there was
anything inexplicable in the sequel to that
hideous nightmare it was the matter-of-
fact reception which he accorded my
story.

"He nodded his head sympathetically
when I recounted my experiences on the
throne, and asstired me that the incident
accorded splendidly with the prophedes
of Mu Sang. T was afraid,’ he said,
'that Great Chaugnar would not accept
you as its companion and nurse — that it
would destroy you as utterly as it has the
guardians — more of the guardians than
I would care to adumbrate.’

"He studied me for a moment intense-

WEIRD TALES

ly. 'No doubt you think me a supersti-
tious savage, a ridiculous barbarian.
Would it surprize you very much if I
should confess to you that I have spent
eight years in England and that I am a
graduate of the University of London?’

“I could only stare at him in befud-
dled surprize. So unbelievable and
ghastly had been the coming to life of
Chaugnar Faugn that lesser wonders
made little impression on me. Had he
told me that he had an eye in the middle
of his back or a tail twenty feet long
which he kept continuously coiled about
his body I should have evinced little sur-
prize. I doubt indeed if anything shon
of a universal cataclysm could have
roused me from my stupor.

“ 'It astonishes you perhaps that I
should have cast my lot with filthy primi-
tives in this loathsome place and that I
should have so uncompromisingly men-
aced your countrymen.’ A wistfulness
crept into his eyes. 'Your Richardson
was a brave man. Even Chaugnar Faugn
was moved to compassion by his valor.
He gave no cry when we drove wooden
stakes throu^ his hands and impaled
him. For three days he defied us. 'Hien
Chaugnar tramped toward him in the
night and set him at liberty.

" 'You may be sure that from that in-
stant we accorded him every considera-
tion. But to return to what you would
undoubtedly call my perverse and atavis-
tic attitude. Why do you suppose I
chose to serve Chaugnar?’

"His recapitulation of what he had
done to Richardson had awakened in me
a confused resentment. 'I don’t know,’
I muttered, 'you vile ’

" 'Spare me your opprobrium, I beg of
you,’ he exclaimed. 'It was Great
Chaugnar speaking through me that dic-
tated the fate of Richardson. I am mere-
ly Chaugnar’s interpreter and instrument.
For generations my forebears have served

Chaugnar, and I have never attempted to
evade the duties that were delegated to
me when our world was merely a thought
in the mind of my god. I went to Eng-
land and acquired a little of the West’s
decadent culture merely that I might
more worthily serve Chaugnar.

" 'Don’t imagine for a moment that
Chaugnar is a beneficent god. In the
West you have evolved certain amiabili-
ties of intercourse, to which you pre-
sumptuously attach cosmic significance,
such as truth, kindliness, generosity, for-
bearance and honor, and you quaintly im-
agine that a god who is beyond good and
evil and hence imamenable to your
"ethics’’ can not be omnipotent.

" 'But how do you know that there are
any beneficent laws in the universe, that
the cosmos is friendly to man? Even in
the mundane sphere of planetary life
there is nothing to sustain such an hypo-
thesis.

" 'Great Chaugnar is a terrible god, an
utterly cosmic and unanthropomorphic
god. It is akin to the fire mists and the
primordial ooze, and before it incarned
itself in Time it contained within itself
die past, the present and the future.
Nothing was and nothing will be, but all
things are. And Chaugnar Faugn was
once the sum of all things that are.’

"I remained silent and a note of com-
passion crept into his voice. I think he
perceived fhat I had no inclination to
split hairs with him over the paradoxes
of transcendental metaphysics.

" 'Chaugnar Faugn,' he continued,
'did not always dwell in the East. Many
thousands of years ago it abode with its
Brothers in a cave in Western Europe,
and made from the flesh of toads a race
of small dark shapes to serve it. In bod-
ily contour these shapes resembled men,
but they were incapable of speech and
their thoughts were the thougjits
Chaugnar.

THE HORROR FROM THE HILLS

" 'The cave where Qiaugnar dwelt
was never visited by men, for it wound
its twisted length through a high and in-
accessible crag of the mysterious Pyre-
nees, and all the regions beneath were
rife with abominable hauntings.

" 'Twice a year Chaugnar Faugn sent
its servants into the villages that dotted
the foothills to bring it the sustenance its
belly craved. The chosen youths and
maidens were preserved with spices and
stored in the cave till Qiaugnar had need
of them. And in the villages men would
hurl their first-borns into the flames and
offer prayers to their futile little gods,
hoping thereby to appease the wrath of
Chaugnar’s mindless servants.

" 'But eventually there came into the
foothills men like gods, stout, eagle-vis-
aged men who carried on their shields the
insignia of invincible Rome. They scaled
the mountains in pursuit of the servants
and awoke a cosmic foreboding in the
mind of Qiaugnar.

" 'It is true that its Brethren succeeded
without difficulty in exterminating the
impious cohorts — exterminating them un-
speakably — ^before they reached the cave,
but it feared that rumors of the attempted
sacrilege would bring legions of the em-
pire-builders into the hills and that eventu-
ally its sanauary would be defiled.

" 'So in ominous conclave it debated
with its Brothers the advisability of flight.
Rome was but a dream in the mind of
Qiaugnar and it could have destroyed her
utterly in an instant, but having incarned
itself in Time it did not wish to resort to
violence until the prophecies were ful-
filled.

" 'Qiaugnar and its Brothers conversed
by means of thought-transference in an
idiom incomprehensible to us and it
would be both dangerous and futile to at-
tempt to repeat the exaa substance of
dieir discourse. But it is recorded in the

prophecy of Mu Sang that Great Qiaug-
nar spoke approximately as follows:

"Our servants shall carry us east-
ward to the primal continent, and there
we shall await the arrival of the White
Acolyte.”

" 'His Brothers demurred. "We are
safe here,” they affirmed. "No one will
scale the mountains again, for the doom
that came to Pompelo will reverberate in
the dreams of prophets till Rome is less
to be feared than moon-dim Nineveh, or
medusa-girdled Ur.”

" 'At that Great Qiaugnar waxed ire-
ful and affirmed that it would go alone
to the primal continent, leaving its Broth-
ers to cope with the menace of Rome.
"When the time-frames are dissolved I
alone shall ascend in glory,” it told them.
"All of you I shall devour before I as-
cend to the dark altars. When the hour
of my transfiguration approaches you will
come down from the mountains cosmical-
ly athirst for That Which is Not to be
Spoken of, but even as your bodies raven
for the time-dissolving sacrament I shall
consume them.”

" 'Then it called for the servants and
had them carry it to this place. And it
caused Mu Sang to be born from the
womb of an ape and the prophecies to be
written on imperishable parchment, and
into the care of my fathers it surrendered
its body.’

"I rose gropingly to my feet. 'Let me
leave this pl^e,’ I pleaded. 'Qiaugnar
has supped upon my blood and has sure-
ly no further need of me!’

"Qiung Ga’s features were convulsed
with pity. 'It is stated in the prophecy
that you must be Chaugnar’s companion
and accompany it to America. In a few
days it will experience a desire to feed
again. You must nurse it unceasingly.’

“ 'I am ill,’ I pleaded. 'I can not
carry Chaugnar Faugn across the desert
plateau.’

WEIRD TALES

" 'I will have the guardians assist you,’
murmured Qiung Ga soothingly. 'You
shall be conveyed in comfort to the gates
of Lhasa, and from Lhasa to the coast it
is less than a week’s journey by caravan.’

“T REALIZED then how impossible it
A would be for me to depart without
Great Chaugnar. 'Very well, Chung
Ga,’ I said. 'I submit to the prophecy.
Chaugnar shall be my companion and I
shall nurse it as diligently as it desires.’

"There was a ring of insincerity in my
speech which was not lost on Chung Ga.
He approached very close to me and
peered into my eyes. 'If you attempt to
dispose of my god,’ he warned, 'its
Brothers will come down from the moun-
tains and tear you indescribably.’

"He saw perhaps that I wasn’t wholly
convinced, for he added in a more om-
inous tone, 'It has laid upon you the
mark and seal of a flesh-dissolving sacra-
ment. Destroy it, and the sacrament will
be consummated in an instant. The flesh
of your body will turn black and melt
like tallow in the sun. You will become
a seething mass of corruption, a fetid and
frenzied abnormality.’ ”

Ulman paused to clear his throat.
"There isn’t much more to my story, Al-
gernon. The guardians carried us safely
to Lhasa and a fortnight later I reached
the Bay of Bengal, accompanied by half
a hundred scabrous and filthy beggars
from the temples of the loathliest cities
in India. There was something about
our caravan that had attraaed them. And
all during the voyage from Bengal to
Hongkong the Indian and Tibetan mem-
bers of our crew would steal stealthily to
my cabin at night and fight with one an-
other for the privilege of pressing their
repellent physiognomies against the shut-
tered panes.

"Don’t imagine for a moment that I
didn’t share their superstitious awe of the

thing I was compelled to companion.
Continuously I longed to carry it on deck
and cast it into the sea. Only the mem-
ory of Chung Ga’s warning and the
thought of what might happen to me if I
disregarded it kept me chained and sub-
missive.

"It was not until weeks later, when I
had left the Indian and most of the Pa-
cific Ocean behind me, that I discovered
how unwise I had been to heed his vile
threats. If I had resolutely hurled
Chaugnar into the sea the shame and the
horror might never have come upon me!’’

Ulman’s voice was rising, becoming
shrill and hysterical. "Chaugnar Faugn is
an awful and mysterious being, a repel-
lent and obscene and lethal being, but
how do I know that it is omnipotent?
Chung Ga may have maliciously lied to
me. Chaugnar Faugn may be merely an
extension or distortion of inanimate na-
ture. Some hideous process, as yet unob-
served and unexplained by the science of
the West, may be noxiously at work in
desert places all over our planet to pro-
duce such fiendish anomalies. Perhaps
parallel to protoplasmic life on the earth’s
crust is this other aberrant and hidden
life — the revolting sentiency of stones
that aspire, of earth-shapes, parasitic and
bestial, that wax agile in the presence of
man.

"Did not Cuvier believe that there had
been not one but an infinite number of
'creations’, and that as our earth cooled
after its departure from the sun a succes-
sion of vitalic phenomena appeared on its
surface? Conceding as we must the or-
derly and continuous development of
protoplasmic life from simple forms,
which Cuvier stupidly and ridiculously
denied, is it not still conceivable that an-
other evolutionary cycle may have pre-
ceded the one which has culminated in
us? A non-protoplasmic cycle?

"Whether we accept the Laplacian or

THE HORROR FROM THE HILLS

the planetesimal theory of planetary for-
mation it is permissible to believe that the
earth coalesced very swiftly into a com-
paa mass after the segregation of its con-
stituents in space and that it achieved suf-
ficient crustal stability to support animate
entities one, or two, or perhaps even five
billion years ago.

"I do not claim that life as we know it
would be possible in the earliest phases of
planetary consolidation, but is it possible
to assert dogmatically that beings pos-
sessed of intelligence and volition could
not have evolved in a direaion merely
parallel to the cellular? Life as we know
it is complexly bound up with such sub-
stances as chlorophyll and protoplasm,
but does that preclude the possibility of
an evolved sentiency in other forms of
matter?

"How do we know that stones can not
think; that the earth beneath our feet may
not once have been endowed with a hid-
eous intelligence? Entire cycles of animate
evolution may have occurred on this
planet before the most primitive of 'liv-
ing’ cells were evolved from the slime
of warm seas.

'"There may have been eons of — ex-
periments! Three billion years ago in the
fiery radiance of the rapidly condensing
earth who knows what monstrous shapes
crawled — or shambled?

"And how do we know that there are
not survivals? Or that somewhere be-
neath the stars of heaven complex and
hideous processes are not still at work,
shaping the inorganic into forms of pri-
mal malevolence.

"And what more inevitable than that
some such primiparous spawn should
have become in my eyes the apotheosis of
all that was fiendish and accursed and un-
clean, and that I should have ascribed to
it die attributes of divinity, and imagined
in a moment of madness that it was im-

mune to destruaion. I should have hurled
it into the depths of the seas and risked
boldly the fulfilment of Qiung Ga’s pro-
phecy. For even had it proved itself
omnipotent and omnificent by rising in
fury from the waves or summoning its
Brothers to bemire me I should have suf-
fered merely indescribably for an in-
stant.”

Ulman’s voice had risen to a shrill
scream. "I should have passed quickly
enough into the darkness had I encoun-
tered merely the wrath of Chaugnar
Faugn. It was not the fury but the for-
bearance of Qiaugnar that has wrought
an uncleanliness in my body’s flesh, and
blackened and shriveled my soul, till a
furious hate has grown up in me for all
that the world holds of serenity and joy.”

Ulman’s voice broke and for a moment
there was silence in the room. 'Then, with
a sudden, convulsive movement of his
right arm he uncloaked the whole of his
face.

He was standing very nearly in the
center of the office and the light from
its eastern window illumed widi a hid-
eous clarity all that remained of his fea-
tures. But Algernon didn’t utter a sound,
for all that the sight was appalling
enough to revolt a corpse. He simply
clung shakingly to the desk and waited
with ashen lips for Ulman to continue.

“It came to me again as I slept, drink-
ing its fill, and in the morning I woke to
find that the flesh of my body had grown
fetid and loathsome, and that my face —
my face ”

“Yes, Clark, I understand.” Alger-
non’s voice was vibrant with compassion.
“I’ll get you some brandy.”

Ulman’s eyes shone with an awful
light.

“Do you believe me?” he cried. “Do
you believe that Chaugnar Faugn has
wrought this uncleanliness?”

WEIRD TALES

Slowly Algernon shook his head. "No,
Clark. Chaugnar Faugn is nothing but
an obscene stone fetish. I believe that
Chung Ga kept you under the influence
of some potent drug until he had — had
cut your face, and that he also mesmer-
ized you and suggested every detail of
the story you have just told me. I be-
lieve you are still actually under the spell
of that mesmerization.”

"When I boarded the ship at Calcutta
there was nothing wrong with my face!”
shrilled Ulman.

"Conceivably not. But some minion
of the priest may have administered the
drug and performed the operation on
shipboard. I can only guess at what hap-
pened, of course, but it is obvious that
you are the viaim of some hideous char-
latanry. I’ve visited India, Qark, and I
have a very keen respect for the hypnotic
endowments of the Oriental. It’s ghast-
ly and unbelievable how much a Hindoo
or a Tibetan can accomplish by simple
suggestion.”

"I feared — I feared that you would
doubt!” Ulman’s voice had risen to a
shriek. "But I swear to you ”

The sentence was never finished. A
hideous pallor overspread the archeolo-
gist’s face, his jaw sagged and into his
eyes there crept a look of panic fright.
For a second he stood clawing at his
throat, like a man in the throes of an
epileptic fit.

'Then something, some invisible force,
seemed to propel him backward. Choking
and gasping he staggered against the wall
and threw out his arms in a gesture of
frantic appeal. "Keep it off!” he sobbed.
"I can’t breathe. I can’t ”

With a cry Algernon leapt forward,
but before he could reach the other’s side
the unfortunate man had sunk to the
floor and was moaning and gibbering and
rolling about in a most sickening way.

2. Tie Atrocity at the Museum

A lgernon Harris emerged from the
■-B. M. T. subway at the Fifty-ninth
Street and Fifth Avenue entrance and be-
gan nervously to pace the sidewalk in front
of a large yellow sign, which bore the dis-
couraging caption: "Buses do not stop
here.” Harris was most eager to secure a
bus and it was obvious from the expec-
tant manner in which he hailed the first
one to pass that he hadn’t the faintest
notion he had taken up his post on the
wrong side of the street. Indeed, it was
not imtil four buses had passed him by
that he awoke to the gravity of his pre-
dicament and began to propel his person
in the direaion of the legitimate stop-
zone.

Algernon Harris was abnormally and
tragically upset. But even a man trem-
bling on the verge of a neuropathic col-
lapse can remain superficially politic, and
it isn’t surprizing that when he ascended
into his bus and encountered on a con-
spicuous seat his official superior, Doaor
George Francis Scollard, he should have
nodded, smiled and responded with an
unwavering amiability to the questions
that were shot at him .

"I got your telegram yesterday,” mur-
mured the president of the Manhattan
Musetim of Fine Arts, "and I caught the
first train down. Am I too late for the in-
quest?”

Algernon nodded. '"The coroner — a
chap named Henry Weigal — ^took my
evidence and rendered a decision on the
spot. 'The condition of Ulman’s body
would not have permitted of delay. I
never before imagined that — that putre-
faction could proceed with such incred-
ible rapidity.”

Scollard frowned. "And the verdia?”
"Heart failure. 'The coroner was very
positive that anxiety and shock were the
sole causes of Ulman’s lethal collapse.”

THE HORROR FROM THE HILLS

"But you said something about his face
being horribly disfigured.”

"Yes. It had been rendered loathsome
by — by plastic surgery. Weigal was hid-
eously agitated until I explained that
Ulman had merely fallen into the hands
of a skilful Oriental surgeon with sadistic
inclination in the course of his investi-
gatory peregrinations. I explained to him
that many of our field workers returned
slightly disfigured and that Ulman had
merely endured an exaggeration of the
customary martyrdom.”

"And you believe that plastic surgery
could account for the repellent and grue-
some changes you mentioned in your
night-letter — the shocking prolongation
of the poor devil’s nose, the flattening
and broadening of his ears ”

Algernon winced. "I must believe it,
sir. It is impossible to entertain any other
explanation sanely. The coroner’s assist-
ant was a little incredulous at first, until
Weigal pointed out to him what an un-
wholesome precedent they would set by
even so much as hinting that the phenom-
enon wasn’t pathologically explicable.
'We would play right into the hands of
the spiritualists,’ Weigal explained. ’An
officer of the police isn’t at liberty to ad-
duce an hypothesis that the distria attor-
ney’s office wouldn’t approve of. The
newspapers would pounce on a thing like
that and play it up disgustingly. Mr. Har-
ris has supplied us with an explanation
which seems adequately to cover the faas,
and with your permission I shall file a
verdia of natural death.’ ”

The president coughed and shifted un-
easily in his seat. "I am glad that the
coroner took such a sensible view of the
matter. Had he been a recalcitrant indi-
vidual and raised objeaions we should
have come in for considerable unpleasant
publicity. I shudder whenever I see a ref-
erence to the Museum in the popular
press. It is always the morbid and sensa-

tional aspeas of our work that they stress
and there is never the slightest attention
paid to accuracy.”

For a moment Doaor Scollard was si-
lent. Then he cleared his throat, and
recapitulated, in a slightly more emphatic
form, the question that he had put to
Algernon originally. "But you said in
your letter that Ulman’s nose revolted
and sickened you — that it had become a
loathsome greenish trunk almost a foot
in length which continued to move about
for hours after Ulman’s heart stopped
beating. Could — could your operation
hypothesis account for such an appalling
anomaly?”

Algernon took a deep breath. "I can’t
pretend that I wasn’t astounded and ap-
palled and — and frightened. And so lost
to discretion that I made no attempt to
conceal my perturbation from the cor-
oner. I could not remain in the room
while they were examining the body.”

"And yet you succeeded in convincing
the coroner that he could justifiably ren-
der a verdia of natural death!”

"You misunderstood me, sir. The cor-
oner wanted to render such a verdia. My
explanation merely supplied him with a
straw to clutch at. I was trembling in
every limb when I made it and it must
have been obvious to him that we were
in the presence of something unthinkable.
But without the plastic surgery assump-
tion we should have had nothing what-
ever to cling to.”

"And do you still give your reluaant
assent to such an assumption?”

"Now more than ever. And my assent
is no longer reluaant, for I’ve succeeded
in convincing myself that a surgeon en-
dowed with miraculous skill could have
aflFeaed the transformation I described in
my letter.”

"Miraculous skill?”

"I use the word in a merely mundane
sense. When one stops to consider what

WEIRD TALES

astounding advances plastic surgery has
made in England and America during the
past decade it is impossible to disbelieve
that the human frame will soon become
more malleable than wax beneath the
scalpels of our surgeons and that beings
will appear in our midst with bodies so
grotesquely distorted that the superstitious
will ascribe their advent to the supernat-
ural.

"And we can adduce more than a sur-
gical 'miracle' to account for the horror
that poor Ulman became without for a
moment encroaching on the dubious do-
main of die super-physical. Every one
knows how extensively the dualess
glands regulate the growth and shape of
our bodies. A change in the quantity or
quality of secretion in any one of the
glands may throw the entire human
mechanism out of gear. Terrible and un-
thinkable changes have been known to
occur in the adult body during the course
of diseases involving glandular instabil-
ity. We once thought that human beings
invariably ceased to grow at twenty-one
or twenty-two, but we now know that
growth may continue till middle age, and
even till the very onset of senility, and
that frequently such growth does not cul-
minate in a mere increase in stature or in
girdi.

"Doubtless you have heard of that rare
and mysterious malady knowm as Acro-
megaly. I believe that authorities differ
as to its precise causation, some holding
that it can be traced to a thyroid and
others to a pituitary disturbance, but we
know, at any rate, that it is basically a
glandular disease of unsurpassable malig-
nancy. It is charaaerized by an abnormal
growth of the skull and face, and occa-
sionally, of the extremities, and its vic-
tims become in a short time no longer
recognizably human. The face swells and
distends and becomes a monstrous carica-
ture and the skull elongates and widens

till it dwarfs the dimensions of macro-
cephaly. In exceptional cases the face has
been known to attain a length of nearly a
foot. But it is not so much the size as the
revolting shape of the face which sets the
viaims of this hideous disease so tragic-
ally apart from their fellows. The fea-
tures not only grow, but they assume a
repellent ape-like cast, and as the disease
advances even the skull waxes revoltingly
simian in its conformation. In brief, the
viaims of Acromegaly become in a short
while almost indistinguishable from very
primitive and brutish types of human an-
cestors, such as Homo neandertalensis and
the unmentionable, enormous-browed car-
icature from Broken Hill, Rhodesia,
which Sir Arthur Keith has called the
most unqualifiedly repulsive physiognomy
in the entire gallery of fossil men.

"'The disease of Acromegaly is perhaps
a more certain indication of man’s origin
than all the 'missing links’ that anthro-
pologists have exhumed. It proves incon-
testably that we still carry within our
bodies the mechanism of evolutionary ret-
rogression, and that when something in-
terferes with the normal funaioning of
our glands we are very apt to return, at
least physically, to our aboriginal status.

"And since we know that a mere in-
sufficiency or superabundance of glandu-
lar secretions can work such devastating
changes, can turn men virtually into
Neandertalers, or great apes, what is there
really unaccoimtable in the alteration I
wimessed in poor Ulman?

"Some Oriental diabolist merdy ten
years in advance of the West in the sphere
of plastic surgery and with a knowledge
of glandular therapeutics no greater than
that possessed by Doaors Noel Paton and
Schafer mig^t easily have wrought such
an abomination. Or suppose, as I have
hinted before, 'hat no surgery was in-
volved, suppose diis fiend has learned so
much about our glands that he can send

THE HORROR FROM THE HILLS

men back and back through the mists of
time — back past the great apes and the
feral marsupials and the loathsome saur-
ians to their primordial sires! Suppose —
it is an awful thought, I know — suppose
that something remotely analogous to
what Ulman became was once oiur ances-
tor, that a hundred million years ago a
loathly batrachian shape with trunk-like
appendages and great flapping ears pad-
died obscenely through the warm pri-
meval seas or stretched its fetid length on
banks of Permian slime!”

M r. scollard turned sharply and
pludced at his subordinate’s sleeve.
"There’s a crowd in front of the Mu-
seum,” he muttered. "See there!”

Algernon started, and rising instantly,
pressed the signal bell above his compan-
ion’s head. "We’ll have to walk back,”
he muttered despondently. "I should
have watched the street numbers.”

His pessimism proved well-founded.
'The bus continued relentlessly on its way
for four additional blocks and then came
so abruptly to a stop that Mr. Scollard
was subjeaed to the ignominy of being
obliged to sit for an instant on the spa-
cious lap of an Ethiopian domestic.

"I’ve a good mind to report you,” he
shouted to the bus conduaor as he low-
ered his portly person to the sidewalk.

"I’ve a damn good mind ”

"Hush!” Algernon laid a pacifying
arm on his companion’s arm. "We’ve
got no time to argue. Something dread-
ful has occurred at the Museum. I just
saw two policemen enter the building.
And those tall men walking up and down
on the opposite side of the street are re-
porters. 'There’s Wells of the Tribune

and Thompson of the Times, and ”

Mr. Scollard gripped his subordinate’s
arm. "Tell me,” he demanded, "did you
put the — the statue on exhibition?”
Algernon nodded. "I had it carried to

Alcove K, Wing C last night. After the
inquest on poor Ulman I was besieged by
reporters. 'They wanted to know all about
the fetish, and of course I had to tell them
that it would go on exhibition eventually.
'They would have returned every day for
weeks to pester me if I hadn’t assured them
that the million-headed beast would be
given an opportunity to gibber and gape
at it.

"Yesterday afternoon all the papers ran
specials about it. 'The News-Graphic gave
it a front-page write-up. I remained at
my office until eleven, and all evening at
half-minute intervals some boob would
ring up and ask me when I was going to
exhibit the thing and whether it really
looked as repulsive as its photographs,
and what kind of stone it was made of
and — oh, God! I was too nervous and
wrought-up to be bothered that way and
I decided it would be best to satisfy the
public’s idiotic curiosity by permitting
them to view the thing today.”

'The two men were walking briskly in
the direaion of the Museum.

"Besides, there was no longer any ne-
cessity of my keeping it in the office. I
had had it measured and photographed
and I knew that Harrison and Smithstone
wouldn’t want to take a cast of it until
next week. And I couldn’t have chosen
a safer place for it than Alcove K. It’s
roped off, you know, and only two paces
removed from the door. Cinney can see
it all night from his station in the corri-
dor.”

By the time that Algernon and Mr.
Scollard arrived at the Museiun the crowd
had reached alarming proportions. 'They
were obliged to fight their way aggres-
sively through a solid phalanx of mum-
bling boobs and submit for fully fifteen
minutes to appalling encroachments on
their personal dignity. And even in the
vestibules they were repulsed with dis-
courtesy.

WEIRD TALES

A red-headed policeman glared sav-
agely at them from behind horn-rimmed
speaacles and arrested their progress with
a threatening gesture. "You’ve got to
keep out!” he shouted. "If you ain’t got
a police card you’ve got to keep out!”

“What’s happened here.^” demanded
Algernon authoritatively.

"A guy’s been bumped oflF. If you
ain’t got a police card you’ve got to ”

Algernon produced a calling-card and
thrust it into the officer’s face. "I’m the
curator of archeology,” he affirmed an-
grily. "I guess I’ve a right to enter my own
museum.”

The officer’s manner softened percep-
ibly. “'Then I guess it’s all right, buddy.
'The chief told me I wasn’t to keep out
any of the guys that work here. How
about your friend?”

"You can safely admit him,” mur-
mured Algernon with a smile. “He’s
president of the Museum.”

"Oh yeh?” The policeman regarded
Mr. Scollard dubiously for a moment.
’Then he shrugged his shoulders and
stepped complacently aside. "I guess it’s
all right, buddy,” he repeated senten-
tiously. "'The chief didn’t say anything
about presidents, but I guess you can both
go in.”

An attendant greeted them excitedly as
they emerged from the turnstile. “It’s
awful, sir,” he gasped, addressing Mr.
Scollard. “Cinney has been murdered —
knifed, sir. He’s all cut and mangled. I
shouldn’t have recognized him if it
weren’t for his clothes. There’s nothing
left of his face, sir.”

Algernon turned pale. "When — when
did this happen?” he gasped.

The attendant shook his head. "I
can’t say, Mr. Harris. It must’ve been
some time last night, but I can’t say ex-
aaly when. ’The first we knew of it was
when Mr. Williams came running down
the stairs with his hands all bloodied.

That was at eight this morning, about
two hours ago. I’d just got in, and all
the other attendants were in the doak
room getting into their luiiforms. That
is, all except Williams. Williams usually
arrives about a half-hour before the test
of us. He likes to come early and have
a chat with Cinney before the doors
open.”

The attendant’s face was convulsed
with terror and he spoke with consider-
able difficulty. “I was the only one to see
him come down the stairs. I was stand-
ing about here and as soon as he came
into sight I knew that something was
wrong with him. He went from side to
side of the stairs and clung to the rails
to keep himself from falling. And his
face was as white as paper.”

Algernon’s eyes did not leave the at-
tendant’s face. "Go on,” he urged.

"He opened his mouth very wide when
he saw me. It was like as if he wanted
to shout and couldn’t. ’There wasn’t a
soimd came out of him.”

The attendant cleared his throat. "I
didn’t think he’d ever reach the bottom
of the stairs and I called out for the boys
in the cloak room to lend me a hand.”

"WTiat happened then?”

"He didn’t speak for a long time. One
of the boys gave him some whisky out of
a flask and the rest of us just stood about
and said soothing things to him. But he
was trembling all over and we couldn’t
quiet him down. He kept throwing his
head about and pointing toward the
stairs. And foam colleaed all over his
mouth. It was awful — ^minded me of a
dog with rabies.

" 'What’s wrong, Jim?’ I said to him.
'What did you see?’

" 'The worm of hell!’ he shrieked.
'The Devil’s awful mascot!’ He said
things I can’t repeat, sir. Horrible, im-
pious things. I’m a God-fearing man,
sir, and there are blasphemies I daren’t

W. T.— 3

THE HORROR FROM THE HILLS

soil my mouth with. But I’ll tell you
what he said when he got through talk-
ing about the worm out of hell. He said:
‘Gnney’s upstairs rottin’ on his belly and
there ain’t a drop of blood in his veins.’

"We got up the stairs quicker than
lightning after he’d told us that. We
didn’t know just what his aazy words
meant, but the blood on his hands made
them seem awful important. They kind
of confirmed what we feared, sir, if you
get what I mean.’’

Algernon nodded. "And you found
Gnney — dead?’’

"Worse than that, sir. All black and
shrunken and looking as though he’d
been wearing clothes about four sizes too
large for him. His face was all gone, sir
— all eaten away, Uke. We picked him
up — he wasn’t much heavier than a little
boy — and laid him out on a bench in 0>r-
lidor H. I never seen so much blood in
my life — the floor was all slippery with
k. And the big stone animal you had us
carry down to Alcove K last night was
all dripping with it, ’specially its trunk.
It made me sort of sick. I never like to
look at blood.”

"You think some one attacked Cin-
ney?”

"It looked that way, Mr. Harris. Like
as if some one went for him with a knife.
It must have been an awful big knife — a
regular butcher’s knife. 'That ain’t a very
nice way of putting it, sir, but that’s how
k struck me. Like as if some one mistook
him for a piece of mutton.”

"And what else did you find when you
examined him?”

"We didn’t do much examining. We
just let him lie on the bench till we got
through phoning for the police. Mr. Wil-
liamson did the talking, sir.” A look of
relief crept into the attendant’s eyes, '"rhe
police said we wasn’t to disturb the body
ftirther, which suited us fine. There
W.T.— 4

wasn’t one of us didn’t want to give poor
Mr. Gnney a wide berth.”

"And what did the police do when they
arrived?”

"Asked us about a million crazy ques-
tions, sir. Was Mr. Cinney disfigured in
the war? And was Mr. Gnney in the
habit of wearing a mask over his face?
And had Mr. Gnney received any threat-
ening letters from Chinaman or Hindoos?
And when we told them no, they seemed
to get kind of frightened. 'If it ain’t mur-
der,’ they said, 'we’re up against some-
thing that ain’t natural. But it’s got to
be murder. All we have to do is get hold
of the Chinaman.”

Algernon didn’t wait to hear more.
Brushing the attendant ungratefully aside
he went dashing up the stairs three steps
at a time. Mr. ScoUard followed with
ashen face.

T hey were met in the upper corridor
by a tall, loose-jointed man in shab-
by, ill-fitting clothes who arrested their
progress with a scowl and a torrent of im-
patient abuse. "Where do you think
you’re going?” he demanded. "Didn’t I
give orders that no one was to come up
here? I’ve got nothing to say to you.
You’re too damn nosy. If you want the
lowdown on this affair you’ve got to wait
outside till we get through putting the at-
tendants on the grill.”

"See here,” said Algernon impatiently,
'"nits gentleman is president of the Mu-
seum and he has a perfea right to go
where he chooses.”

'The tall man waxed apologetic. "I
thought you were a couple of newspaper
Johns,” he murmured confusedly. “We
haven’t anything even remotely resem-
bling a clue, but those guys keep popping
in here every ten minutes to aoss-examine
us. They’re worse than prosecuting attor-
neys. Come right this way, sir.”

He led them past a little knot of at-

WEIRD TALES

tendants and photographers and finger-
print experts to the northerly part of the
corridor. "There’s the body,” he said,
pointing toward a sheeted form which lay
sprawled on a low bench near the win-
dow. "I’d be grateful if you gentlemen
would just take a squint at the poor lad’s
face.”

Algernon nodded, and lifting a corner
of the sheet peered for an instant intently
into what remained of poor Cinney’s
countenance. 'Then, with a shudder, he
surrendered his place to Mr. Scollard.

It is to Mr. Scollard’s credit that he
did not cry out. Only the trembling of his
lower lip betrayed the revylsion which
filled him.

"He was foimd on the floor in the cor-
ridor about two hours ago,” explained
the deteaive. "But the guy who found
him isn’t here. 'They’ve got him in a
strait] acket down at Belleview, and it
doesn’t look as though he’ll be much help
to us. He was yelling his head off about
something he said came out of hell when
they put him in the ambulance. That’s
what drew the crowd.”

"You don’t think Williams could have
done it?” murmured Algernon.

"Not a chance. But he saw the mur-
derer all right, and if we can get him to

talk ” He wheeled on Algernon

abruptly. "You seem to know something
about this, sir.”

"Only what we picked up downstairs.
We had a talk with one of the attendants
and he explained about Williams — and
the Chinaman.”

The deteaive’s eyes glowed. '"The
Chinaman? What Chinaman? Is there a
Chinaman mixed up in this? It’s what
I’ve been thinking all along, but I didn’t
have much to go on.”

"I fear we’re becoming involved in a
vicious circle,” said Algernon. "It was
your Chinaman I was referring to. Willy
said you were laboring under the impres-

sion that all you had to do to solve this
distressing affair was to catch a China-
man.”

The deteaive shook his head. "It
ain’t so simple as that,” he affirmed. "We
haven’t any positive evidence that a
Chinaman did it. It might have been a
Jap or Hindoo or even a South Sea
Islander. 'That is, if South Sea Islanders
eat rice!”

"Rice?” Algernon stared at the daec-
tive incredulously.

"Yeh. In a bowl with long sticks. I’m
no authority on a-aemalogy, but it’s
my guess they don’t use chopsticks much
outside of Asia.”

He went into Alcove 'K and returned
with a wooden bowl and two long splin-
ters of wood. “All those dark spots near
the rim are blood stains,” he explained,
as he surrendered the gruesome exhibits
to Algernon. "Even the rice is all smeared
with blood. It’s nasty-looking gooey — •
the kind of stuff a yellow ripper would
fill his guts with.”

Algernon shuddered and passed the
bowl to Scollard, who almost dropped it
in his haste to return it to the deteaive.

"Where did you find it?" the president
spoke in a subdued whisper.

"On the floor in front of the big stone
elephant. That’s where the murder was
pulled off. There’s blood all over the ele-
phant — if it’s supposed to be an ele-
phant.”

"It isn’t, strialy speaking, an elephant,”
said Algernon.

"Yeh? Well, whatever It is, it could
tell us what Cinney’s murderer looked
like. I’d give the toes off my left foot if
it could talk.”

“It doesn’t talk,” said Algernon de-
cisively.

"I wasn’t wisecracking,” admonished
the deteaive. "I was simply pointing out
that that elephant could give us the low-
down on a mighty nasty murder.”

THE HORROR FROM THE HILLS

Algernon accepted the rebuke in si-
lence.

"There ain’t no doubt whatever that a
Oiinaman or Hindoo or some crazy for-
eigner sneaked in here last night, set him-
self down in front of that elephant and
began eating rice. Maybe he was in a
church-going mood and mistook the beast
for one of his heathen gods. It kind of
looks like a heathen statue — like one of
those grinnin’ Buddhas they put in all the
windows at Van Tine’s.”

Algemaa smiled ironically. "But un-
questionably unique,” he murmured.

"Yeh. Larger and uglier-looking, but
a heathen statue for all that. I bet it aau-
ally was worshipped once.”

"Yes,” adnnitted Algernon, "it is indu-
bitably in the religious tradition. For all
its hideousness it has all the earmarks of
a quiescent Eastern divinity.”

"'There ain’t anything more dangerous
than interfering with an Oriental when
he’s saying his prayers,” continued the de-
teaive. "I’ve been in Qiinktown raids, and
I know. Now here’s what I think hap-
pened. Gnney is standing in the corridor
and suddenly he hears the C hina m an mut-
tering and mumbling to himself in the
dark. He’s naturally frightened and so
he rushes in with his pocket light where
an angel would be fearing to tread. 'The
light gets in the Chink’s eyes and sets him
off.

"It’s like putting a matdi to a ton of
TNT to throw a light on a Chink when
he’s squatting in the dark in a worshipful
mood. So the Chink goes for the poor kid
with a knife. A white man would have
made a quick job of it, but you can’t
count on what a Chink will do when
something frightens and upsets him.
They’re a cruel, unreasoning race. The
cutting, mutilating impulse is in their
blood. It’s a sort of second nature with
them to want to torture people. And if
something prevents them from getting

back at you when you set them off they’ll
do a hari-kari before your eyes. I’ve
watched them try it. A crazy, mad crew.
And Hindoos are just as bad. If it ain’t
a Chinaman it’s got to be a Hindoo.”

Algernon nodded impatiently. "There
may be something in your theory, ser-
geant. But there’s a great deal it doesn’t
explain. What was it that Williams
saw?”

"Nothing but Cinney lying dead in the
corridor. Nothing but Gnney looking up
at him without a face and that awfiil
heathen animal looking down at him with
blood all over its mouth.”

Algernon stared. "Blood on its
mouth?”

"Sure. All over its mouth, trunk and
tusks. Never seen so much blood in my
Efe. That’s what Williams saw. I don’t
wonder it crumpled the kid up.”

T here was a commotion in the corri-
dor. Some one was sobbing and
pleading in a most fantastic way a few
yards from where the three men were
standing. *1116 deteaive turned and
shouted out a curt command. "Whoever
that is, bring him here!”

Came an appalling, ear -harassing
shriek and two plain-clothes men emerged
around a bend in the corridor with a di-
minutive and weeping Oriental spread-
eagled betwixt their extended arms.

"The Chinaman!” muttered Scollard in
amazement.

For a second the detective was too
startled to move, and his immobiUty
somehow emboldened the Chink to break
from his captors and prostrate himself on
the floor at Algernon’s feet.

"You are my friend,” he sobbed. "You
are a very good man. I saw you in green-
fire dream. In dream when big green
animals came down from mountain I saw
you and Gautama Siddhartha. Big green
animals all wanted blood — all very much

WEIRD TALES

wanted blood. In dream Gautama Sidd-
hartha said: 'They want you! They have
determined they make you all dark fire
glue.'

"I said, 'No! Please,’ I said. Then Gau-
tama Siddhartha let fall jewel of wisdom.
'Go to museeum. Go to big museeum
round block, and big green animal will
eat you quick. He will not make you dark
fire glue. He will eat you quick — before
he make American man dark fire glue.'

"All night I have sat here. All night
I said: 'Eat me. Please!’ But big green
animal slept till American man came.
Then he moved. Very quickly he moved.
He gave American man very bad hug.
American man screamed and big green
animal drank all American man’s blood.”

The Chinaman was sobbing unrestrain-
edly. Algernon stooped and lifted him
gently to his feet. "What is your name?”
he asked, to soothe him. "Where do you
live?”

"I’m boss big laundry down street,”
murmured the Chinaman, "My name is
Hsieh Ho. I am a good man, like you.”

"Where did you go when — ^when the
elephant came to life?”

'The Chinaman’s lower lip trembled
convulsively. "I hid back of big white
lady.”

In spite of the gravity of the situation
Algernon couldn’t repress a smile. The
"big white lady” was a statue of Venus
Erycine and so enormous was it that it
occupied almost the whole of Alcove K.
It was a perfect sanctuary, but there was
something ludicrously incongruous, in a
Chinaman’s seeking refuge in such a
place.

One of the deteaives, however, con-
firmed the absurdity. "That’s why we
found him, sir. He was lying on his back,
wailing and groaning and making faces
at the ceiling. He’s our man, all right.
We’ll have die truth out of him in ten
minutes.”

'The chief sergeant nodded. "You bet
we will. Put the bracelets on him, Jim.
Chinks are wormy customers.”

Reluaantly Algernon surrendered
Hsieh Ho to his captors. "I suggest you
treat him kindly,” he said. "He had the
misfortune to witness a ghastly and un-
precedented exaggeration of what Ed-
dington would call the random element in
nature, but he’s as destitute of criminal
proclivities as Mr. Scollard here.”

'The deteaive raised his eyebrows. "I
don’t get it, sir. Are you suggesting we
ain’t to put him on the grill?”

Algernon nodded. "If you try any of
your revolting third-degree taaics on that
poor little man you’ll answer in court to
my lawyer. Now, if you don’t mind. I’ll
have a look at Alcove K.”

'The deteaive scowled. He wanted to
tell Algernon to go to hell, but somehow
the infleaion of authority in die latter’s
voice glued the inveaive to his tongue,
and with a surly shrug he escorted the
group into the presence of Chaugnat
Faugn.

S ANGUINARY baptism becomes some
gods. Were the gracious figures of
the Grecian pantheon to appear to us
with blood upon their garments we
should recoil in horror, but we should
think the terrible Mithra or the heart-
devouring Huitxilopochtli a trifle im-
convincing if they came on our dreams
unbespattered with the ruddy vintage of
sacrifice. Not that Great Chaugnar desti-
tute of gore had seemed tinconvincing. It
was so hideous in all truth that no blood
was needed to proclaim its inherent
malignancy. But now it seemed more than
malign. It was as though some dark hid-
den horror of inner earth had come up
from its foul lair with all its feastings ig-
nobly clinging to the hair about its
mouth. It was as though the hyena had
shouldered its kill, as though the vulture

THE HORROR FROM THE HILLS

had gone flapping through the sky with
all its glut dispersed in vomit on its loath-
some breast.

Algernon did not at first look direaly
at Qiaugnar Faugn. At first he studied
the tiled marble floor about the base of
the idol and tried to make out in the
gloom the precise spot where Cinney had
lain. The attempt proved confusing.
There were dark smudges on almost every
other tile and they were nearly all of equal
circumference.

"Right there is where we found the
corpse,” said the detective impatiently.
"Right beneath the trunk of the elephant.”

Algernon’s blood ran cold. Slowly,
very slowly, for he feared to confront
what stood before him, he raised his eyes
until they were level with the detective’s
shoulders. The deteaive’s shoulders con-
cealed a portion of Qiaugnar Faugn, but
all of the thing’s right side and the ex-
tremity of its trunk were hideously visible
to Algernon as he stared. He spoke no
word. He did not even move. But all of
the blood drained out of his lips and left
them purple.

Mr. Scollard was staring at his subor-
dinate with frightened eyes. "You aa as
though — as though — good God, man,
what is it?”

"It has moved its trunk!” Algernon’s
voice was vibrant with horror. "It has
moved its trunk since — since yesterday.
And most hideously. I can not be mis-
taken. Yesterday it was vertical — today it
is bent at an angle of forty-five degrees!”

Mr. Scollard gasped. He felt an appal-
ling horror churning and fussing at the
back of his head. "Are you sure?” he
muttered. "Are you wholly certain that
the trunk wasn’t upraised when the god
arrived here?”

"Yes, yes. Until today. In the ex-
citement no one has noticed it, but if you
will call the attendants — wait!”

The president had started to do that

very thing, but Algernon’s admonition
brought him up short. "I shouldn’t have
suggested that,” he murmured in Scol-
lard’s ear. '"rhe attendants mustn’t be
questioned. It’s all too imutterably
ghastly and inexplicable and — and mad.
We’ve got to keep it out of the papers,
seek a solution secretly. I know some
one who may be able to help us. 'The
police can’t, and we musm’t even let them
suspert what we think, what we fear.
We’ve got to hush it up. For the Mu-
seum’s sake."

"rhe deteaive was staring at them pity-
ingly. "You gentlemen better get out of
here,” he said. "You ain’t used to sights
like this. I used to say queer things my-
self. When I was new at this game I
went balmy over corpses. I couldn’t
stand the sight of ’em, used to get down
on my knees and pray — ^when no one was
watching. Never let on, of course. But
we’re all like that at first.”

With an effort Algernon mastered his
agitation. "You’re right, sergeant,” he
said. "Mr. Scollard and I acknowledge
that this business is a little too disturbing
for sane contemplation. So we’ll retire,
as you suggest. But I must insist again
that you refrain from putting poor Hsieh
Ho 'on the grill’.”

In the corridor he drew Mr. Scollard
aside and conversed for a moment ur-
gently in a low voice. Then he ap-
proached the detective and handed him a
card. "If you want me within the next
few hours you’ll find me at this address,”
he said. "Mr. Scollard is returning to
his home in Brooklyn. You’ll find his
phone number in the direaory, but I
hope you won’t disturb him unless some-
thing really grave mrns up.”

The deteaive nodded and read aloud
the address on Algernon’s card. "Dr.
Henry C. Imbert, F. R. S., F. A. G. S.”

"A friend of yours?” he asked imper-
tinently.

WEIRD TALES

Algernon nodded. "Yes, sergeant.
The foremost American ethnologist. Ever
hear of him?”

To Algernon’s amazement the sergeant
nodded. "Yes. I got kind of interested
in etemalogy once, I was on a queer
case about two years ago. An old lady
got bumped off by a poisoned arrow and
we had him in for a powwow. He’s
clever all right. He gave us all the dope
soon as he saw the corpse. Said a little
nigger had done it — one of those African
pigmies you read about. We followed
up the tip and caught the murderer just
as he was giving the little fellow a cya-
nide cigarette to smoke. He was a
shrewd dago. He got the pigmy in
Africa, hid him in a room down on
Houston Sueet and sent him out to bump

off and rob old ladies. He was as spry
as a monkey and could shinny up a drain-
pipe on the side of a house in ten sec-
onds. If it hadn’t been for Imbert we’d
never have got our hands on the guy that
owned him.”

Mr. Scollard and Algernon descended
the stairs together. But in the vestibule
diey parted, the president proceeding
down the still crowded outer steps in the
direaion of a bus whilst Algernon sought
his office in Wing W.

"When Imbert sees this,” the youth
murmured, as he extraaed a photograph
of Qiaugnar Faugn from his chaotically
littered desk, "he’ll be the most disturbed
ethnologist that this planet has harbored
since the Pleistocene Age.”

Great Chaughnar goes ravening into the world In
next month’s shivery chapters o£ this powerfoi story*

The Necromantic Tale

By CLARK ASHTON SMITH

Sir Roderick Hagdon's lije was tied to the personality of an infamous, long-i

dead ancestor

I N ONE sense, it is a mere truism to
speak of the evocative power of
words. TTie olden efficacy of subtly
woven spells, of magic formulas and in-
cantations, has long become a literary
metaphor; though the terrible reality
which once underlay and may still under-
lie such concepts has been forgotten.
However, the necromancy of language is
more than a metaphor to Sir Roderidc
Hagdon: the scars of fire on his ankles
are things which no one could possibly
regard as having their origin in a figure
of speech.

Sir Roderick Hagdon came to his title
and his estate with no definite expecta-

tion of inheriting them, nor any first-
hand knowledge of the sort of life and
surroimdings entailed by his inheritance.
He had been bom in Australia; and
though he had known that his father was
the younger brother of Sir John Hagdon,
he had formed only the vaguest idea of
the ancestral manor; and the interest that
he felt therein was even vaguer. His sur-
prize was little short of consternation
when the deaths of his father, of Sir
John Hagdon and Sir John’s only son,
all occurring within less than a year, left
clear his own succession and brought a
letter from the family lawyers informing
him of this faa — ^which otherwise might

THE NECROMANTIC TALE

have escaped his attention. His mother,
too, was dead; and he was unmarried; so,
leaving the Australian sheep-range in
charge of a competent overseer, he had
sailed immediately for England to assume
his hereditary privileges.

It was a strange experience for him;
and, strangest of all, in view of the faa
that he had never before visited England,
was the inexplicable feeling of familiarity
aroused by his first sight of the Hagdon
manor. He seemed to know the farm-
lands, the cottages of the tenants, the
wood of ancient oaks with their burdens
of Druidic mistletoe, and the old manor-
house half hidden among gigantic yews,
as if he had seen them all in some period
that was past recolleaion. Being of an
analytic trend, he attributed all this to
that imperfea simultaneousness in the
aaion of the brain-hemispheres by which
psychologists account for such phenom-
ena. But the feeling remained and grew
upon him; and he yielded more and more
to its half-sinister charm, as he explored
his property and delved in the family
archives. He felt also an unexpeaed kin-
ship with his ancestors — a feeling which
had lain wholly dormant during his Aus-
tralian youth. Their portraits, peering
upon him from the never-dissipated
shadows of the long hall wherein they
hung, were like well-known faces.

The manor-house, it was said, had been
built in the reign of Henry the Seventh.
It was mossed and lichened with an-
tiquity; and there was a hint of begin-
ning dilapidation in the time-wom stone
of the walls. The fornaal garden had
gone a little wild from neglea; the
trimmed hedges and trees had taken on
fantastic sprawling shapes; and evil,
poisonous weeds had invaded the flower-
beds. There were statues of cracked
marble and verdigris-eaten bronze amid
the shrubbery; there were fountains that
had long ceased to flow; and dials on

which the foliage-intercepted sun no
longer fell. About it all there hung an
air of shadow-laden time and subtle
decadence. But though he had never
known anything but the primitive Aus-
tralian environment, Hagdon foimd him-
self quite at home in this atmosphere of
Old World complexities — an atmosphere
that was made from the dissolving phan-
toms of a thousand years, from the breath-
ings of dead men and women, from loves
and hates that had gone down to dust.
Contrary to his anticipations, he felt no
nostalgia whatever for the remote land of
his birth and upbringing.

Sir Roderick came to love the sunless
gardens and the overtowering yews. But,
above and beyond these, he was fas-
cinated by the manor-house itself, by the
hall of ancestral portraits and the dark,
dusty library in which he found an
amazing medley of rare tomes and manu-
scripts. There were many first editions of
Elizabethan poets and dramatists; and
mingled with these in a quaint disorder,
were antique books on astrology and con-
juration, on demonism and magic. Sir
Roderick shivered a little, he knew not
why, as he turned the leaves of some of
these latter volumes, from whose ancient
vellum and parchment arose to his nos-
trils an odor that was like the mustiness
of tombs. He closed them hastily; and
the first editions were unable to detain
him; but he lingered long over certain
genealogies and manuscript records of
the Hagdon family, filled with a strange
eagerness to learn as much as he could
concerning these shadowy forebears of
his.

In going through the records, he was
strudc by the brevity of the mention ac-
corded to a former Sir Roderick Hagdon,
who had lived in the early Seventeenth
Century. All other members of the direct
line had been dealt with at some length;
their deeds, their marriages, and their

WEIRD TALES

various claims to distinaion (often in the
role of soldiers or scholars) were usually
set forth with a well-nigh vainglorious
unction. But concerning Sir Roderick,
nothing more was given than the bare
dates of his birth and death, and the faa
that he was the father of one Sir Ralph
Hagdon. No mention whatever was made
of his wife.

Though there was no obvious reason
for more than a passing surmise, the
present Sir Roderick wondered and specu-
lated much over these singular and per-
haps sinister omissions. His curiosity in-
acased when he found that there was no
portrait of Sir Roderick in the gallery,
and none of his mysterious unnamed
lady. There was not even a vacant place
between the pictures of Sir Roderick’s
father and son, to indicate that there ever
had been a portrait. The new baronet
determined to solve the mystery, if pos-
sible: an element of vague but imperative
disquietude was now mingled with his
curiosity. He could not have analyzed his
feelings; but the life and fate of this un-
known ancestor seemed to take on for
him a special significance, a concern that
was incomprehensibly personal and in-
timate.

At times he felt that his obsession
with this problem was utterly ridiculous
and uncalled-for. Nevertheless, he ran-
sacked the manor-house in the hope of
finding some hidden record; and he ques-
tioned the servants, the tenants and the
people of the parish to learn if there were
any legendry concerning his namesake.
The manor-house yielded nothing more to
his search; and his inquiries met with
blank faces and avowals of ignorance; no
one seemed to have heard of this elusive
Seventeenth Century baronet.

At last, from the family butler, James
Wharton, an oaogenarian who had
served three generations of Hagdons, Sir
Roderick obtained the clue which he

sought. Wharton, who was now on the
brink of senility, and had grown forget-
ful and taciturn, was seemingly ignorant
as the rest; but one day, after repeated
questioning, he remembered that he had
been told in his youth of a secret closet
behind one of the book-shelves, in which
certain manuscripts and heirlooms had
been locked away several hundred years
before; and which, for some unknown
reason, no Hagdon had ever opened since
that time. Here, he suggested, something
might be found that would serve to illu-
mine the dark gap in the family history.
There was a cunning, sardonic gleam in
his rheumy eyes as he came forth with
this tardy piece of information, and Sir
Roderick wondered if the old man were
not possessed of more genealogical lore
than he was willing to admit. All at once,
he conceived the disquieting idea that
perhaps he was on the verge of some
abominable discovery, on the threshold
of things that had been forgotten because
they were too dreadful for remembrance.

However, he did not hesitate: he was
conscious of a veritable compulsion to
learn whatever could be learned. The
bookcase indicated by the half -senile but-
ler was the one which contained most of
the volumes on demonism and magic It
was now removed; and Sir Roderick went
over the imcovered wall inch by inch.
After much futile fumbling, he located
and pressed a hidden spring, and the
door of the sealed room swung open.

It was -little more than a cupboard,
though a man could have concealed him-
self within it in time of need. Doubtless
it had been built primarily for some such
purpose. From out its narrow gloom the
moldiness of dead ages rushed upon Sir
Roderick, together with the ghosts of
queer exotic perfumes such as might have
poured from the burning of unholy cen-
sers in Satanic rites. It was an effluence
of mystery and of evil. Within, there

THE NECROMANTIC TALE

were several ponderous brazen-bound
volumes of mediaeval date, a thin manu-
script of yellowing parchment, and two
portraits whose faces had been turned to
the wall, as if it were unlawful for even
the darkness of the sealed closet to behold
them.

S IR RODERICK brought the volumes, the
manuscript and the portrait forth to
the light. The pictures, which he exam-
ined first, represented a man and woman
who were both in the bloom of life. Both
were attired in Seventeenth Century cos-
tumes; and the new Sir Roderick did not
doubt for a moment that they were the
mysterious couple concerning whom the
family records were so reticent.

He thrilled with a strange excitement,
with a feeling of some momentous revela-
tion that he could not whoUy compre-
hend, as he looked upon them. Even at a
glance, he saw the singular resemblance
of the first Sir Roderick to himself — a
likeness otherwise unduplicated in the
family, which tended to an almost anti-
nomian type. There were the same fal-
con-like features, the same pallor of
brow and cheek, the same semi-morbid
luster of eyes, the same bloodless lips
that seemed to be carven from a marble
that had also been chiselled for the long
hollow eyelids. The majority of the Hag-
dons were broad and sanguine and ruddy:
but in these two, a darker strain had re-
peated itself aaoss the centuries. The
main difference was in the expression, for
the look of the first Sir Roderick was that
of a man who has given himself with a
passionate devotion to all things evil and
corrupt; who has gone down to damna-
tion through some inevitable fatality of
his own being.

Sir Roderick gazed on the picture with
a fascination that was partly horror, and
partly the stirring of emotions which he
could not have named. Then he turned

to the woman, and a wild agitation over-
mastered him before the sullen-smiling
mouth and the malign oval of the lovely
cheeks. She, too, was evil, and her beauty
was that of Lilith. She was like some
crimson-lipped and honey-scented flower
that grows on the brink of hell; but Sir
Roderick knew, with the terror and fear-
ful rapture of one who longs to fling him-
self from a precipice, that here was the
one woman he might have loved, if haply
he had known her. Then, in a moment
of reeling and whirling confusion, it
seemed to him that he had known and
loved her, though he could not remember
when nor where.

The feeling of eery confusion passed;
and Sir Roderick began to examine the
brass-bound volumes. They were written
in a barbarous decadent Latin, and dealt
mainly with methods and formulas for
the evocation of such demons as Ache-
ront, Amaimon, Asmodi and Ashtoreth,
together with innumerable others. Sir
Roderick shuddered at the curious draw-
ings with which they were illuminated;
but they did not detain him long. With
a thrill of actual trepidation, like one who
is about to enter some awful and unhal-
lowed place, he took up the manuscript of
yellowing parchment.

It was late afternoon when he began
to read; and rays of dusty amber were
slanting through the low panes of the
library windows. As he read on, he gave
no heed to the sinking of the light; and
the last words were plain as runes of fire
when he finished his perusal in the dusk.
He closed his eyes, and could still see
them:

"And Sir Roderick Hagdonne was now deemed
a moste infamous warlocke, and hys Ladye Elinore
a nefandous witche. . . . And both were burned
at the stake on Hagdonne Common for their crimes
against God and man. And their sorcerous deedes
and praaices were thought so fouJe a blotte on ye
knighthoode of England, that no man speaks there-
of, and no grandam tells the tale to &e children
at her knee. So, by God Hys mercy, the memorie
of thys foulnesse shall haply be forgotten; for

WEIRD TALES

surely itte were an ill thing that such should be
recalled."

Then, at the very bottom of the page,
there was a brief, mysterious foomote in a
finer hand than the rest:

"There be those amid the thronge who deemed
that they saw Sir Rodericke vanish when the flames
leaped high; and thys, if true, is the moste dam-
nable proof of hys compaa and hys commerce with
the Evill One.”

Sir Roderick sat for a long while in
the thickening twilight. He was un-
strung, he was abnormally shaken and dis-
traught by the biographical record he had
just read — a record that had been written
by some unknown hand in a bygone cen-
tury. It was not pleasant for any man to
find a tale so dreadful amid the archives
of his family history. But the faa that
the narrative concerned the first Sir
Roderick and his Lady Elinor was hardly
enough to account for all the spiritual
turmoil and horror into which he was
plunged. Somehow, in a way that was
past analysis, that was more intimate than
his regard for the remote blot on the
Hagdon name, he felt that the thing con-
cerned himself also. A terrible nervous
perturbation possessed him, his very
sense of identity was troubled, he was
adrift in a sea of abominable confusion,
of disoriented thoughts and capsizing
memories. In this peculiar state of mind,
by an automatic impulse, he lit the floor-
lamp beside his chair and began to re-
read the manuscript.

A lmost in the casual manner of a mod-
- em tale, the story opened with an
account of Sir Roderick’s first meeting, at
the age of twenty-three, with Elinor
D’Avenant, who was afterward to become
his wife.

This time, as he read, a peculiar hal-
lucination seized the new baronet. It
seemed to him that the words of the old
writing had begim to waver and change
beneath his scrutiny; that, imder the black

lines of saipt on yellowing parchment,
the picture of an actual place was form-
ing. The page expanded, the letters grew
dim and gigantic; they seemed to fade
out in midair, and the picture behind
them was no longer a picture, but the
very scene of the narrative. As if the
wording were a necromantic spell, the
room about him had vanished like the
chamber of a dream; and he stood in the
open sunlight of a windy moor. Bees
were humming around him, and the scent
of heather was in his nostrils. His con-
sciousness was indescribably dual; some-
where, he knew, one part of his brain
was still reading the ancient record; but
the rest of his personality had become
identified with that of the first Sir Rod-
erick Hagdon. Inevitably, with no sur-
prize or astonishment, he found himself
living in a bygone age, with the percep-
tions and memories of an ancestor who
was long dead.

"Now Sir Roderick Hagdonne, being in the
flower of hys youth, became instantlie enamoured
of the beauteous Elinore D’Avenant, whenas he
mette her of an Aprile morn on Hagdonne
heathe."

Sir Roderick saw that he was not alone
on the moor. A woman was coming
toward him along the narrow path amid
the heather. 'Though clad in the conven-
tional gown and bodice of the period, she
was somehow foreign and exotic to that
familiar English landscape. She was the
woman of the portrait which, in a later
life, as another Sir Roderick, he had
found in a sealed room of the manor-
house. (But this, like much else, he had
now forgotten.) Walking with a languid
grace amid the homely blossoms of the
heath, her beauty was like that of some
opulent and sinister lily from Saracenic
lands. He thought that he had never
seen any one half so strange and lovely.

He stood to one side in the stiflF growth,
and bowed before her with a knightly
courtesy as she passed. She nodded slight-

THE NECROMANTIC TALE

iy in acknowledgment, and gave him an
unfathomable smile and an oblique flash
of het dark eyes. From that time. Sir
Roderick was her slave and her devotee:
he stared after her as she disappeared on
the curving slope, and felt the mounting
of an irresistible flame in his heart, and
the stirring of hot desires and curiosities.
He seemed to inhale the spice of a lan-
guorous alien perfume with every breath
of the homeland air, as he walked oa-
ward, musing with ingenuous rapture on
the dark, enigmatic beauty of the face he
had seen.

Now, in that queer necromantic dream.
Sir Roderick seemed to live, or re-live,
the events of an entire lustrum. Some-
where, in another existence, another self
was conning briefly the paragraphs which
detailed these events; but of this he was
conscious only at long intervals, and then
vaguely. So complete was his immersion
in the progress of the tale (as if he had
drunk of that Lethe which alone makes
it possible to live again) that he was un-
troubled by any prevision of a future
known to the Sir Roderick who sat re-
reading an old manuscript. Even as it
was written, he returned from the moor
to Hagdon Hall with the vision of a fan-
danger in his heart; he made inquiries
concerning her, and learned that she was
the daughter of Sir John D’Avenant,
who had but recently received his knight-
hood for diplomatic services, and had
DOW taken up his abode on the estate
near Hagdon that went with his title.
Sir Roderick was now doubly impelled
to call on his new neighbors; and his
first visit was s<x)a repeated. He became
an open suitor for the band of Elinor
D’Avenant; and, after a wooing of sev-
eral months, he married her.

The passionate love with which she had
inspired him was CMxly deepened fay their
life together. Always her allurement was
that of things but half understcxxl, of

momentous revelations eternally half
withheld. She seemed to love him truly
in return; but ever her heart and soul
were strange to him, ever they were mys-
terious and exotic, even as the first sight
of her face had been. For this, mayhap,
he loved her all the more. They were
happy together; and she bore him one
child, a son whom they named Ralph.

Now, in that other life, the Sir Rod-
erick who was reading in the old library
came to these words:

“No man knew how it h2^>ped ; but anon there
were dieade whispers and foule rumours regarding
the Ladye Elinore; and people said that she was a
witch. And in their time these rumours reached
the eare of Sir Roderick.”

A horror crept upon the haf^y dream
— » horror scarce to be comprehended in
this naodern age. There were formless
evil wings that came to brood above
Hagdon Hall; and the very air was
poisoned with mali^aant murmurs. Day
by day, and night by night, the baronet
was tortured wkh a vile, unholy sus-
picicMi of the woman he lovedL He
watched her with a fearful anxiety, with
eyes that dreaded to discern a new and
more ominous meaning in her strange
beauty. TEen, when he could bear it no
longer, he taxed her with the infamous
thin^ he had heard, hoping she would
deny them and by virtue of her denial
restore fully his former trust and peace
of mind.

To his utter constematioa, the Lady
Elinor laughed in his face, with a soft,
siren-like mirth, and made open avowal
that the charges were true.

"And I trow,” she added, "that you
love me txx) well to disown or betray me;
that for my sake, if need be, you will
becc«ne a veritable wizard, even as I am
a witch; and will share with me the in-
fernal sports of the Sabbat.”

Sir Roderick {fleaded, he cajoled, be
'Commanded, he threatened; but ever she
answered him with voluptuous tauter

WEIRD TALES

and Circean smiles; and ever she told
him of those delights and privileges
which are procurable only through
damnation, through the perilous aid of
demons and succubi. Till, through his
exceeding love for her, even as she had
foretold. Sir Roderick suffered himself
to become an initiate in the arts of sor-
cery; and sealed his own paa with the
powers of evil, that he might in all
things be made forever one with her that
he loved so dearly.

It was an age of dark beliefs and of
praaises that were no less dark; and
witchcraft and sorcery were rampant
throughout the land, among all classes.
But in the Lilith-like Elinor there was a
spirit of soulless depravity beyond that of
all others; and beneath the seduaion of
her love the hapless Sir Roderick fell to
depths wherefrom no man could return,
and made mortgage of his soul and
brain and body to Satan. He learned the
varying malefic usages to which a waxen
image could be put; he memorized the
formulas that summon frightful things
from their abode in the nethermost night,
or compel the dead to do the abominable
will of necromancers. And he was
taught the secrets whereof it is unlaw-
ful to tell or even hint; and came to
know the malediaions and invultuations
which are lethal to more than the mortal
flesh. And Hagdon Hall became the
scene of pandemonian revels, of rites that
were both obscene and blasphemous; and
the terror and turpitude of hellish things
were eflEluent therefrom on all the coun-
tryside. And amid her coterie of the
damned, amid the witches and sorcerers
and incubi that fawned upon her, the
Lady Elinor exulted openly; and Sir
Roderick was her partner in each new
enormity or baleful deed. And in this
atmosphere of noisome things, of Satanic
crime and sacrilege, the child Ralph was
alone innocent, being too young to be

harmed thereby as yet. But anon the
scandal of it all was a horror in men’s
souls that could be endured no longer;
and the justice of the law, which made a
felony of witchcraft, was called upon by
the people of Hagdoni

It was no new thing for members of
the nobility to be tried on such a charge
before the secular or ecclesiastical courts.
Such cases, in which the accusations were
often doubtful or prompted by mere
malice, had sometimes been fought at
length. But this time the guilt of the de-
fendants was so universally maintained,
and the reprobation aroused thereby so
profound, that only the briefest and most
perfunaory trial was accorded them.
They were condemned to be burnt at the
stake; the sentence to be carried out on
the following day.

WAS a chill, dank morning in autumn
when Sir Roderick and Lady Elinor
were borne to the place of execution and
were tied to their respeaive stakes, with
piles of dry fagots at their feet. They
were set facing each other, so that neither
might lose any detail of their mutual
agony. A crowd was gathered about
them, thronging the entire common — a
crowd whose awful silence was unbroken
by any outcry or murmur. So deep was
the terror wrought by this infamous
couple, that no one dared to execrate or
mock them even in the hour of their
downfall. Sir Roderick’s brain was be-
numbed by the obloquy and shame and
horror of his situation, by a realization
of the ultimate depths to which he had
fallen, of the bitter doom that was now
imminent. He looked at his wife, and
thought of how she had drawn him down
from evil to evil through his surpassing
love for her; and then he thought of the
frightful searing pangs that would con-
vulse her soft body; and thinking of these
he forgot his own fate.

THE NECROMANTIC TALE

Then, in a dim, exiguous manner, he
remembered that somewhere in another
century there sat another Sir Roderick
who was reading all this in an old manu-
script. If he could only break the necro-
mantic spell of the tale, and re-identify
himself with that other Sir Roderick, he
would be saved from the fiery doom that
awaited him, but if he could not deny the
spell, he would surely perish, even as a
falling man who reaches bottom in a
dream is said to perish.

He looked again, and met the ga2e of
the Lady Elinor. She smiled across her
bonds and fagots, with all the old seduc-
tion that had been so fatal to him. In
the re-attained duality of his conscious-
ness, it seemed as if she were aware of
his intention and had willed to deter
him. The ache and anguish of a deadly
lure was upon him, as he closed his eyes
and tried very hard to picture the old
library and the sheet of parchment which
his other self was now perusing. If he
could do this, the whole diabolical illu-
sion would vanish, the process of vis-
uali2ation and sympathetic identification
which had been carried to an hallucina-
tive degree, would return to that which
is normally experienced by the reader of
an absorbing tale.

There was a crackling at his feet, for
some one had lit the fagots. Sir Rode-
rick opened his eyes a little, and saw that
the pile at Lady Elinor’s feet had likewise
been lit. Threads of smoke were rising
from each pile, with tiny tongues of flame
that grew longer momently. He did not
lift his eyes to the level of Lady Elinor’s
face. Resolutely he closed them again,
and sought to re-summon the written
page.

He was aware of a growing warmth
underneath his soles; and now, with an
agonizing flash of pain, he felt the lick-
ing of the flames about his ankles. But
somehow, by a desperate effort of his
will, like one who awakens voluntarily
from a clutching nightmare, he saw
before him the written words he was try-
ing to vizualize:

"And both were burned at the stake on Hag-
donne Common for their crimes against God and
man."

The words wavered, they receded and
drew near on a page that was still dim
and enormous. But the aackling at his
feet had ceased; the air was no longer
dank and chill, no longer charged with
acrid smoke. There was a moment of
madly whirling vertigo and confusion;
and then Sir Roderick’s two selves were
re-united, and he found that he was sit-
ting in the library chair at Hagdon, star-
ing with open eyes at the last sentences
of the manuscript in his hands.

He felt as if he had been through some
infernal ordeal that had lasted many
years; and he was still half obsessed by
emotions of sorrow and regret and hor-
ror that could belong only to a dead
progenitor. But the whole thing was
manifestly a dream, albeit terrible and
real to a degree that he had never before
experienced. He must have fallen asleep
over the old record. . . . But why, then,
if it were only a dream, did his ankles
still pain him so frightfully, as if they
had been seared by fire?

He bent down and examined them:
beneath the Twentieth Century hose in
which they were attired, he found the
upward-flaring madts of recent burns!

THE

GALLEY

SLAVE

LIEUTENANT

EDGAR

GARDINER

The man in the club was strangely gifted — or cursed — by a vivid memory of

the voyage of Odysseus

I T WAS good of you, a stranger, to
accept my invitation, sirj and share
with me the comparative solitude of
this inglenook. In all diis crowded yet
exclusive club there is no one diat I know
— ^you see, I am a guest here only, and ray
friend who brought me was called away
suddenly by an urgent telegram that
brooked of no delay.

Until you came and took pity on me I
seemed doomed to spend the evening in
lonely solitude, though surrounded by
hundreds of my fellow men, and that
would be the worst possible thing that
might befall me, for tomorrow is my wed-
ding day.

Oh, I should be the happiest man
alive instead of the most miserable! When
a man has won the hand of such a price-
62

less treasure as is my hanc^ Fortune’s
cup should be brimming over. And yet —
and yet — my heart is filled with gloomy
forebodings. Would to God that 1 could
shut out forever from my memory those
scenes that recur monotonously over and
over, turning present joys to dust and
ashes in my mouth.

You start. You look about this club-
room in bewilderment. No; I assure you
I am not drunk, though I have reascMi
enough for such a state. You seemed so
friendly, so balanced, of such an under-
standing nature, that I was immediately
drawn to you. You seemed so like my
father who died long years ago; you
seemed so like that other that I knew in
the days that

My name on that bit of cardboard in

THE GALLEY SLAVE

your hand can mean nothing to you. Yes,
I must admit that I am the William Ar-
nold mentioned so frequently in the social
news of the metropolis and who for the
past week has appeared so often in the
newspapers of this city as well, where I
am almost a total stranger; while your
card — indeed I know you as an antiqua-
rian, as the foremost authority on the lore
of ancient, almost forgotten civilizations!
And to you — it seems that the hand of
destiny drew me to you — to you what I
am going to tell should prove of absorb-
ing interest, for you are the most eminent-
ly fitted to interpret it aright.

But I perceive that I have said either
too much or too little. Your pardon, but
I must talk to some understanding soul —
must pour out my story lest I go mad.
You are sure that you don’t mind? You
would be delighted to help if that were
possible? I knew that I was not mistaken,
I knew that my intuitions had not played
me false; though as for helping me — I
wonder if in all this world there is any
help for me. But if you will bear with
me, sir

I trust this vintage is to your liking; it
is very favorably known, and I can as-
sure you Then that is quite all

right.

And now, let me ask a question of
you, not to be inquisitive, but merely to
clear the atmosphere. Do you hold with
most moderns that there is a hereafter.

another life beyond the grave? It is a
common, a universal belief, widely scat-
tered as to both time and place. Per-
haps, like most moderns, you have put
that hereafter in Heaven; that, too, is al-
most a commonplace. You have! Now,
having gone so far, let me ask you yet
another question. We will take for the
moment one of those who lived in the
ages long since passed, one who also be-
lieved in a hereafter, in another life after
death. There is no difference, say you,
whether he lived now or in dim distant
ages? Perhaps not; we still agree. But
I ask you to go back to that one long
since dead; might not his hereafter be
now? Absurd! Impossible! And I ask
you, who are still sputtering — I ask you
one little word: Why?

Aha! I have you there! You frown!
you rant! I ask you to give me one logi-
cal reason against it — just one! You
can not do it! You only shout, "Non-
sense!” Is it, then? Give me facts to
prove your stand. No? Give me, at
least, plausible reasons — what! You can
not? No, you can only give me noise —
and noise, my dear sir, comes from any
drum when it is beaten, just because that
drum is empty.

Transmigration of souls! Why yes, I
believe it is so called. It is a doarine
believed in by teeming millions in this
day and age, though it is not so much the
fashion among such as you and me; but
I assure you, my dear sir, it is quite as
logical and even more plausible than the
tenets which you hold. There is no need
to sit there and glare at me, nor any need
to pound upon the table and ask me for
proofs. 'That, my dear fellow, is the
very thing I shall now tty to give you.
Oh, ho! 'That shaft touched home, did
it? Proof you shall have — proof you
can not doubt. Thrice lucky for me that
you are an authority on ancient cultures.
But enough of this.

WEIRD TALES

It grows late, my dear sir, and there is
much to tell. Attend me carefully. The
pad I placed at your elbow is for such
notes as you might care to make during
my tale, and I give you leave to ask such
questions as you will. I ask but one
thing of you — a little thing after all:
Inasmuch as its publication might prove
embarrassing now, will you hold such
notes as you may make until I give you

leave to publish or imtil Ah, yes;

you understand! A post-mortem state-
ment: yes, that is the term, I believe, that
you modems use, though you borrowed
it from us who have been gone these long
ages. I beg you to forget that last re-
mark; it is of no importance, a mere di-
gression as it were.

1 ET us take up the subjea of transmi-
^gration in the abstraa — as a theory
only, I hasten to add. All these myriads
who died believing in another life here-
after Very well, I accept the cor-

rection. We will say, then, another life
in Heaven. They died through the ages
— ^well and good! They shall reappear
in Heaven. That can not oflFend you.
But you cramp me. I must begin in a
diflterent way.

Let us take a newborn life upon this
earth. You can not tell me, nor can any
other man, from whence that life comes.
You can not definitely assure me that this
newborn life is appearing for the first
time on this earth. Aha! you squirm!

By its very ignorance and its having to
learn every least thing pertaining to this
life, it proves in itself conclusively that
it can have had no previous existence
here. That is very well put. Nor shall
I bring up against you what we may call
instinaive knowledge.

I will not ask you that troublesome
question: What is gone from a dead body
that was within it when it was still alive?
I shall be equally silent about where that

missing thing has gone when we view the
dead body, for your answer must take
into consideration that nothing is ever
lost from this globe: it is merely trans-
formed into something else. After all,
I am not trying to convert you to my
theory of transmigration.

We come into this world and we leave
it again, and it is all a great mystery.
The Psalmist has said, *T am fearfully
and wonderfully made.” We still think
so. But you are impatient.

"Give me one clear-cut case to prove
the point or forever hold your peace!”
you say.

Very well. I shall try to do just that,
and on your own head be the conse-
quences. That example shall be — ^my-
self. Smoke up, my friend! Fill that
pad with notes to your heart’s content!

The theory held in highest repute by
us believers in transmigration is that after,
each return journey to this earth there is
a door closed in our memory that shuts
up forever all knowledge of that former
existence on this terrestrial globe. Could
we find but one single mind where those
doors, or even but one of them, were
open, to no matter what sli^t degree,
dien we would have something on which
to go ahead, and at that very point we
have met constant failure. By the way,
that is the very point you wished to use
to refute me, is it not?

You must bear with me for the liberal
sprinkling of first person pronouns that
I am compelled to use from this point on,
for, after all, I am disseaing myself be-
fore your keen scientific eyes. I am go-
ing back now to the period of my adoles-
cence, when I first noticed the difference
between me and my fellows. It was,
perhaps, when I was eleven or twelve
years old. Night after night I awoke in
a cold sweat of terror, the bedclothes
clutched in a death-grip, as I dreamed
that I was falling — falling — and often

W. T.— 4

THE GALLEY SLAVE

the shriek from my fear-constriaed throat
that awakened me, awoke my more pro-
saic elder brother who slept in the same
room.

You say that the falling dream is very
common to us humans, and especially to
the young. You say that it is the im-
pression made on the race by the count-
less thousands of our arboreal ancestors
who swung through the treetops in great
bounding swoops; that it comes from
those who crashed through the maze of
slender branches and caught their hold
again. Those who failed to save them-
selves crashed to their death and left no
memories — ^nor posterity, either, for that
matter. Very good. We must perforce
drop that line.

Let us go on, now, to three years ago
when I first saw the mountains — saw
them and loved them at once; so much so
that I resolved never to leave them. Yes,
I had dwelt before always in the plains.
That, too, is a common thing, you say,
that love of the high places by those who
have dwelt always in the lowlands. I do
not know. But attend me closely.

I came at last to a place that was
vaguely familiar; no, more! Though I
had never been there before to my knowl-
edge, yet as the train swung around each
bend, I knew just what we should find
spread before our eyes; every grim
lichened boulder and aspiring forest
giant; every tumbling brook; nor was I
ever deceived — not once!

Explain that to me, if you can! Telep-
athy.? Bah! Yet I am very sensitive
that way. I get a great deal from others
that does not come in words — even as I
get your hostile attitude. Very well.
We shall drop that line also, though I
could give you a multitude of strange
facts about Aat country in which I have
dwelt almost constantly since.

Now let us go back to yet another
thing. I shall take you back to my four-
W. T.— 5

teenth year, when at school we tcwk up
the Iliad and the Odyssey. It was my
first contaa with that period and its an-
cient culture and it stirred me tremen-
dously. Yes, it has stirred die whole
world quite as much as it swayed me. I
agree with you there. I made perfea
grades in those subjects under a teacher
who was notorious for her low marks.

For the first time in my life I wanted
to draw; I drew sketches of all that
glorious adventure. My books were filled
with them, and other sheets of paper as
well. Rude enough they were for the
most part, yet some of them were con-
sidered worthy of a place in the school’s
annual exhibit, and after that was over,
they went out as a part of a national
sch(X)l children’s exhibit and I had no lit-
tle trouble to get them returned to me,
but get them back I did. If you will
come with me to my rcxim I will show
them to you. Thank you.

Let us take them up in order. I agree
with you; some of them are hopelessly
crude, but let us take up some significant
points about them as a whole. Remem-
ber, I had read only the unadorned Eng-
Esh text that we studied and I had abso-
lutely no background reading of that
period. Bearing that in tnind, does not
something about them strike you as im-
portant. No.?

They are very ordinary sketches of that
period! Quite so. That was the gen-
eral comment when they were viewed.
But authorities on that period noted one
very significant fact — just one; and they
all noted it! As far as they could tell
from all their exhaustive esearches of
that age these sketches were absolutely
true in every minute detail!

Whence came that fidelity to the life
of those old dim ages? I had nothing
but the poor, inadequate English text to
guide me, yet manners, customs, dress —
l(x>k at those shields, the spears, the

WEIRD TALES

ships, the architecture — see the fidelity to
those things as they really were! The
texts that guided me were not so exaa
and definite but that they would allow
many mistakes in all this mass of detail.

Let me tell you why, my friend, you
who are now so frankly puzzled and baf-
fled. I was drawing a life that I knew
quite as intimately and thoroughly as if
I had lived it. Utter rot, isn’t it? I
would scrawl and scribble most of the
period while that gorgon of a teacher
glowered at me. She shot questions at
me, sly, tricky questions out of her col-
lege-trained mind that had absorbed more
about that period and about those two
books than most common mortals, for
they were a passion with her. And al-
ways my answer was ready, and always it
was right!

O NE day — ^we were deep in the Odys-
sey then — she shot a question at me
and I never looked up as I answered her.
I knew my answer was right. She gave
a gasp, jumped to her feet and —
screamed!

Odd? Yes, indeed! For her question
was couched in classic Greek! And my
answer was in the common vulgar Greek
of the lower classes — an ancient Greek
tongue of which she could imderstand
just enough to get the astounding faa
with full force. I? I went on draw-
ing; I never knew that both question and
answer had not been given in English!

The poor woman was so upset that she
dismissed the class then and there! Only
as we swarmed out into the hallway and
the boys crowded around me demanding
to know what we two had said, did I
realize that neither of us had spoken
English, but it was not until after school
when she and I had a long, earnest talk
together that I began to understand.

We two talked then, so deep in that
deathless old story that the building

might have burned about our heads and
we should never have noticed it, or rath-
er, she did most of the talking while I
scrawled aimlessly on the blackboard.
What I scrawled on that black surface
that afternoon was to come back to me
most vividly two years later. But we will
leave that for the present and come back
to it again.

Do you remember that part of the story
that depicts the loss of one of the ships?
Ah, you do? . . . Yes, that’s the very pas-
sage! When we came to that we got an-
other recess, but it was my fault this time,
instead of the teacher's. She had caught
me saibbling again and she made me de-
scribe the sinking of that ship in my own
words.

I must have done so with a will, for as
I told the class of those waves crashing
over the side and leaping down upon the
rowers chained to their benches, I fainted
dead away and I only came to my senses
again when I lay on the floor out in the
hall, gasping; dripping with the water
they had poured over me. Four of the
boys still had me gripped by as many dif-
ferent parts of my anatomy and it had
taken ^ of them to bring me from the
recitation room.

What was that? How did the waves
look as they broke upon that sinking
ship? How odd of you to ask that! I
have had to answer that very question
many times in the past few years, but it
is very easy to answer; the scene has been
indelibly etched upon my memory. ’There
was a sudden lurch; the stout planking
dropped swiftly beneath us, while for a
single instant the waves stood still in a
thin green and white line above us; then
they leaped down- — oh, Zeus! ...

'Thank you, sir. ... I feel better now.
Tm very sorry. It was most inconsider-
ate of me to faint like that. What’s that,
sir? You say you were aboard the Mat-
sonia when she went down off the New-

THE GALLEY SLAVE

foundland Banks with a heavy loss of
life? You saw the waves looking pre-
dsely like that for just a split second!
You will never forget it! Neither will I.
It is unforgettable, isn’t it?

I beg your pardon, sir. You asked me
what I had scrawled upon the blackboard
that day and you want to know how it
fits into this pu2zle? The teacher had
made no mention of it at the time, but
she had copied it very carefully on paper
and she sent it to her old university pro-
fessor, who was an authority on ancient
Greece and its languages, both written
and spoken. His name? Why, yes;
Talbert. Perhaps you know him. You
do? You say he is indeed the foremost
authority upon things of that time and
that he has done a deal of research work
on the very site of that deathless story?
I had heard so myself.

O UR family moved away from that city
the same week that I so thoroughly
demoralized the class and, naturally, I
never finished class work upon the Odys-
sey. But the teacher kept in close touch
with me through her letters; long letters
that contained a minimum of school gos-
sip and a maximum of questions about
that tremendous voyage of Odysseus;
questions that I answered most religiously
and often voluminously. I did not know
that for a period of two years or more
an exaa copy of my letters went to Pro-
fessor Talbert at that Eastern university
or that the entire mass of correspondence
was later published as a monograph. Nor
did I know that it rocked the classic
world and its students to their founda-
tions. There was a map, for example,
that I had drawn; quite accurate enough
in its way, that showed the location of
some of the long-lost cities; cities that
were little more than names. They have
since been excavated in part and found
to lie just where I had located them.

What did I write upon that black-
board? How impatient you are! I had
scrawled several lines of Greek thereon;
that vulgar ancient form of which I have
spoken. Professor Talbert’s translation
showed that it was a fairly vivid word-
picture of that famous scene of which I
spoke before, and especially graphic was
the description of that monster who'
tossed the rocks that sank us.

But let us get back to our premise:
the return of a soul from that dim his-
toric past to this earth at the present time.
I have shown you a sixteen-year-old lad,
bom in the Middle West, who could not
have had any previous knowledge of a
time so far bade in the dawn of history.
He could not have read of the things he
told, for most of them were new even to
those who had spent long years tracing
down such fragmentary facts as the world
then possessed of that dim distant age.
The things he told, as published in that
epochal monograph, upset many of their
preconceived notions, though later re-
searches proved him surprizingly correa
and the antiquarians themselves at fault.

How came that knowledge to him?
How? Unless one of those doors had in-
deed been left unlocked; unless he was
really one of that heroic band come back
to life in our commonplace workaday
world! Fantastic and absurd! Impossi-
ble! Yet, can you give a more likely ex-
planation?

You say that there is only my unsup-
ported word! Then I have failed! Failed
where I had hoped so greatly! But per-
haps you still have some questions to put
to me. What of my knowledge of the
rest of that voyage? I have none. I
must have died when that ship went
down imder the barrage of great stones.
What impressions are most vivid? Nat-
urally, that last one stands out above all
the rest, and next to that — I have awak-
ened times without number, wearied to

WEIRD TALES

exhaustion over the eternal rowing — end-
less, ceaseless rowing, with the intolerable
pain of the chafing leg-irons

Yes, indeed! Those oars were manned
by slaves shackled to their benches. No-
where in the text of that great trip is such
a thing mentioned, yet it seems now quite
well authenticated as a faa. What of
my fears? — why should this thing make
any difiFerence in my life? — ^you call them
hallucinations. Perhaps that is what they
are, after all, though to me they seem real
enough.

I can not explain that fear, though it
is ever present. Let me elucidate. There
was the time when, a lad in school, I de-
scribed the scene — and fainted. The
boys told me what a struggle they had
with me at the time, how they fought to
bring me back to life. You, too, had
some little experience a short time ago.
It has been like that every time the thing
has come into my mind, and th'at has been
rather too often. Always there has been
such a struggle, and I am afraid that it
will happen just once too often and I
shall go — go out into that unknown void,
to reappear, perhaps, under more auspi-
cious circumstances at another date. But
I perceive that once more I have offended
you. True, you said nothing, neither did
your appearance change in the slightest,
but I caught your thoughts as plainly as
though you spoke them openly.

I fear for myself every time the mists
clear away and I see once more that mon-
ster with his single baleful eye hurling
the great rocks through the air. The
first falls short and drops into the sea
with a mighty splash; the next goes far
beyond us. A third goes through our
great sail, riving it from top to bottom,
while we struggle madly with the great
ash oars. They are out at last!

While the captain of the rowers runs
up and down his runway between the
banks of seats lashing furiously at our

naked, improteaed backs, we find the
rhythm; faster and faster! The water
boils backward from our churning blades,
the vessel leaps forward and the spears-
men upon the high stem can no more
hurl their puny weapons at his vast bulk.
We draw farther and farther away; we
shall yet escape! But no! He tears
loose a great gray rock from the water’s
very edge; his mighty thews and sinews
crack as he heaves it far beyond the rest
of his casts! It crashes through our
decks, leaving a sickening welter of
jagged splinters and pulpy arms and legs
and cmshed bodies that spout great gouts
of blood into the inrushing flood! The
ship quivers with her death blow; the
dedc sinks beneath our frenzied feet to
the echo of our mad yells for freedom
from our chains! For a single moment
the sea stands rimmed about us, then the
waves dash madly down between out

ranks Oh, Poseidon; hold thy

hand! Zeus! Father Zeus! Spate

*******

T he above is the exaa transaipt of
the stenographic notes I made dut-
ing my chat and brief visit with William
Arnold at the time of his sudden demise.
The young man, an utter stranger, had
asked me to dine with him, had told me
the strange story here set down, that had
such a fatal termination. He was un-
questionably insane. While his sudden
end caused much speculation, it was un-
doubtedly due to heart failure, so called.

I noticed but one peculiar feature — a
point entirely overlooked by the medical
praaitioner whom the club governors
called in and who certified to his death
from natural causes: the young man’s
lungs were filled with water as are those
of a drowned person.

Where it came from I do not know.
'The quantity seemed too great to have

THE PORTAL TO POWER

been the glassful that I dashed into his
face in my first efforts to revive him be-
fore the doaor arrived.

As to the theory he sought to prove, it
can have no basis in faa; well informed
as he unquestionably was on the ancient
culture of pre-Homeric Greece, this has
all been threshed out in the journals de-
voted to those subjects, and especially in
the monumental work of Professor M. T.

Talbert, briefly alluded to in the above
account.

The mass of drawings that he entrusted
to me is being carefully studied, as well
as the Greek inscriptions upon them. I
consider them copies of ancient scrawls
dating possibly from pre-Mycenean times,
though I am at a loss to explain where
the young man could have found the
originals.

The Portal to Power

By GREYE LA SPINA

A cult of devil-worshippers in a hidden valley of the Rocky Mountains men-
aces the world with a frightful
doom

The Story Thus Far

PEABODY, taking to California a mysterioo* tails*
^ man entrusted him by a reputed witch on her
death-bed, accepts the apropos invitation of Job
Scudder. airship ma^ate, to fly west. He finds that
Quint, his recently discharged employe, has been taken
on the ^'Queen" as mechanic, and foresees trouUe.
since Quint is a secret emissa^ of certain initiates
who wish to gain possession of the talisman. Leda.
Scudder's pretty niece, appears deeply disturbed at
the presence of Henry Winch, secretary to a gruest on
the “Queen.” Quint gets control of the “Queen” and
kidnaps the entire party. His associates have already
brought the god Pan into materialization, and pro-
pose to make Leda high priestess. Larry Weaver,
pilot of the “Queen,” suggests a plan for escape.
Dr. Peabody entrusts the tolisman to Leda. who finds
a pistol is no protection against Pan, and at the
Goat-man*s threat to deliver up her friends to death
unless she gives him the talisman, prmnises to do so
at a ceremony that night.

CHAPTER 15

“Ta /F AY I come in?” asked the high
I W I priest, addressing Leda.

The girl nodded with hau-
teur, and drew herself upright like a
queen on her throne.

"I thought it best to come myself,” he
explained, as he approached her and seat-
ed himself, at her gesture, on the nearest
divan. "I have had a long talk with my
grandson. . . . You will pardon me, I

know, if I seem distrait, but I’ve just had
a most saddening disillusion. ... a dis-
appointment. . . .”

The entire party looked curiously at the
old man as he all at once bowed his face
into his hands, while his shoulders shook
convulsively. Slowly Leda’s eyes sought
Henry Winch’s puzzled, thoughtful face.

"My grandson — I — I only discovered it
today — is not at heart one with us here
in our dedication to the higher happiness
of the world. He is young and ambi-
tious,” said the priest apologetically.

"In a word,” interrupted Doctor Pea-
body dryly, "you have found that your
grandson wishes power to gratify his own
ambitious projects, whatever they may
be?”

'The high priest nodded, lifting his
face from his hands. 'The fire had gone
from his eyes, that all at once looked tired
and worn.

"I have actually been obliged to warn
the initiates that under no circumstances

This storj- begrut in WKIBD TASJS3 tor Ootobor

WEIRD TALES

shall they obey his slightest command.
This has been, as you may well under-
stand, a most severe and painful ordeal
for rae.”

"Are all the initiates with you?’’ asked
Henry Winch with sudden penetration.
"If they are, all may yet be well with your
plans. But isn’t it possible that Quint
may have among them certain adherents
who incline to his way of thought?”

’"rhis I have already considered, al-
though it is difficult for me to believe that
an initiate can do other than work toward
world betterment selflessly. Still, Quint’s
example is enough to startle me into be-
lieving that there may well be, as you say,
others ”

The old doCTor’s lips compressed. He
looked fixedly at the high priest’s appar-
ently honest face, then nodded as if satis-
fied with what he read there.

"How do you manage to open those
solid glass walls?” burst in L^ry, as if
unable longer to control himself.

"That is easy, my son,” said the high
priest, and he spoke in a lighter tone, as
if glad to abandon a topic of conversa-
tion that could not but be painful to him.
"It can be done very simply, even by com-
paratively untrained minds, by direaing
at the wall one of those bulb-tipped
wands you have seen in the hands of our
people.

"You point the bulb at the wall, direa
your thoughts along it until they reach
the tip, and if you have succeeded in put-
ting all else out of your mind for a few
seconds except the one thought that the
wall must open to you, the thing is done.
Simple?”

Larry Weaver smiled triumphantly.
The rest of the party knew why he was
so pleased. The way out had been found.
It would be easy to get one of the bulb-
tipped wands from an attendant. . . .

"But how did you make the glass pla-

teau?” pursued Larry. "I must say chat’s
beyond me.”

"Very much in the same manner, but
the details are too many for me to explain
just now,” wearily answered the priest.
"To make a long story short, all that ex-
ists comes from the same basic material,
and it in turn is merely different arrange-
ments of molecules and atoms vibrating
at various rates. The knowledge of how
to control that rate of vibration, gained
by deep study and deeper occult experi-
ence, gives the power to control the rate
of vibration which produces matter in all
its various forms.”

"Then you created that glass plateau,
the walls, this city, by your force of will,
and your knowledge how to direa it?”

"To bring into material form this glass
fortress was the least of our tasks,” re-
plied the priest, and he smiled slightly.

"About our getting away from here,”
Larry began again, briskly taking the
initiative for the party, "I understand
from Miss Scudder that you are perfealy
willing that we should all go.”

"All but the young lady herself,” hast-
ily said the priest. "She must be daained,
for she is absolutely necessary for bur fur-
ther progress in our experiments. Up to
her graduation last June, I may remark,
we had her watched constantly, to make
sure of her indomitable will, her strong
charaaer, her tendencies, her ”

"Good Lord!” Larry interrupted pi-
ously. "Spied upon all the time . . .
how pleasant! Well, as to the rest of us,
you are willing that we should go?”

"Why not? You may go whenever you
so desire,” acceded the priest earnestly.
He turned to Leda. "Are you perfealy
resigned, maiden, to your high part in
what is to take place?”

Leda nodded shortly, and he appeared
satisfied.

"The ’Queen’ shall be ready on the
plateau whenever you say. You people

THE PORTAL TO POWER

can all go this afternoon, if you choose.”

"I would like to go up to see that the
ship is in petfea order for flying,” Larry
said craftily, with a dark glance under his
heavy brows. This too ready compliance
had evidently aroused his suspicions.

"Go with me when I leave here, and
fly her up yourself, if you please,” offered
the high priest quickly, meeting suspi-
cion with frankness. "She is helicopter-
equipped, and you from your experience
would have no diflBiculty in getting her
out above the river and up to the plateau.
In faa,” he added, thoughtfully, some
sudden idea evidently striking him with
misgivings, "I think it might be better for
you to take her out, instead of — instead
of my grandson,” he ended, a kind of
break in his voice, and he dropped his
eyes unhappily.

"That’s all O. K., then,” agreed Larry,
his alert glance nmning around the party.
"And then I come down here again?”

Leda took a hand at this point, her
face serious.

"Let them all go now,” said she firmly,
avoiding their eyes.

"What?” cried Henry Winch, Larry
and old Job simultaneously.

"I am afraid their presence might dis-
traa me,” Leda complained to the high
priest with disarming simplicity.

Her imcle gave a loud groan. He knew
what she was trying to do. She would sac-
rifice her own possible escape in order to
get the rest of them their liberty.

"I shall not go one step,” said he with
determination, meeting the high priest’s
sad eyes, "until I’ve seen the whole cere-
mony, whatever it is. I shall not leave my
niece imtil I’ve seen with my own eyes
that she has truly accepted her part in
your plans, and that it is indeed a part
that will protea her from harm.”

Loud exclamations of agreement arose
from the rest of the party, and Leda was

obliged to subside gracefully, with a
shrug of her young shoulders.

"I only want it understood,” said she,
"that I am taking on myself, willingly,
the part of high priestess to the Higher
Powers. I beheve that you,” and she ad-
dressed the priest, "and your initiates are
sincere in wishing for the world’s happi-
ness, and being sane, I would like to see
such a desire succeed.”

T he old priest smiled at her. For the
first time in the interview something
like tranquillity came into his face. His
eyes remained on the girl’s face hopefully.

"Now that you have willingly dedi-
cated yourself to this most tremendous
service to mankind, I personally shall see
to it that no harm touches you or yours.
With all that my misguided grandson has
gained in knowledge of secret things, yet
am I more powerful, more learned,” he
declared earnestly. "Trust yourself to my
guidance, maiden, and you will become
the most renowned human being who
has yet lived on this sad earth. You will
become the instnunent for the highest
good and the utmost happiness to the
human race.”

"I can not see,” all at once cried out
Gemma, "how you dare say that you only
want to do good to the world, when you
have let loose upon it the terrible Pan.
He is cruel, sensuous, without any moral
sense ”

She had put her finger direaly upon a
weak spot, and the entire party looked ex-
peaantly at the high priest.

"It was our first attempt at drawing a
higher power down into mortal form,” he
admitted unwillingly. "And we had not,
then, the Portal to Power,” he added.
"We were unable to raise our invocations
in vibration to a high enough pitch, and
then maintain them there, without the
talisman. Now that we have it, we are
prepared to make entry for powers that

WEIRD TALES

stagger the attempt at description,” he
finished enthusiastically.

"He actually believes it himself,” whis-
pered Larry to Hetuy Winch, who
nodded without removing his fixed gaze
from the old priest’s face.

'The pilot addressed himself to the
priest again.

"If there is nothing more you can tell
us, you might take me along now to get
the 'Queen’.”

"Then your plans ?”

"We will attend the ceremonies to-
night, by all means,” decided the doctor
with firmness, looking not at the priest
but at Leda as he spoke. "We intend to
see with our own eyes this calling down
onto the Earth Plane of higher powers.
After the ceremonies are over, and we
know that the yoimg lady is safe and that
the happiness of the world has been
secured,” said he with a slightly ironical
intonation, "we will go on our way . . .
imless we find it to the world’s greatest
benefit to cast in our lots with you.”

"Perhaps you may do that, indeed,”
cried the priest, with every appearance of
pleasure at the idea. "There are great
souls among you; I can feel that in-
tuitively. It would mean but little
preparation for you, sir, for example,”
said he to the doctor, "to prepare your-
self for fuller initiation, and hence for a
high post in the coming dispensation.”

"Does not the Bible say something
about him who would be first?” hinted
the doaor significantly.

The priest had the grace to color a
little.

"We shall, of course, have to await
the word of the Higher Powers as to any
appointments,” he replied with dignity,
"but I felt that, being at the head of this
tremendous movement, and next in
authority to our future high priestess, I
might have some little influence with
Them.”

"It all soimds to me, sir, like a de-
cidedly earthly revolution,” observed
Doctor Peabody tartly.

"It has to begin with Matter, doesn’t
it?” retorted the high priest. "When we
have opened Matter to the influx of
Spirit, we can start living on a more
spiritual plane.”

"You may be right, but you sound all
wrong to me,” the doaor sighed. "Well,
tonight should show us much of inter-
est.”

"Tonight you shall see this maiden
lifted into higher power and veneration
than any earthly woman has ever been
raised,” promised the priest solemnly.
"And you shall see the beginning of a
new world. I promise you. I know it
must be so. My faith, my desire, my will,
all — all are engaged in this high em-
prise.”

"La us hope that all will come to pass
as God may will,” returned the doaor
dryly.

Comma’s voice cried out at them then.

"You are all talking and talking,” she
exclaimed, "and you’ve forgotten poor
Captain. If we’re going to leave here, we
shouldn’t forga him.”

"She’s right,” Leda said briskly. "He
doesn’t amount to much, certainly, but he
must come with us. That is,” she cor-
reaed herself as the priest gave her a
sharp glance, "that is, he must be sent to
join xis now and remain with the party
until they go.”

"Righto,” Henry Winch seconded her.

"He can come back with me,” said the
pilot.

'The priest rose, ‘"rhen all is satisfac-
torily explained and arranged?”

A half -smile flitted over Larry’s face.
Henry Winch scowled.

"All that is necessary for now,” said
the doaor gravely.

"Then it might be well if the maiden

THE PORTAL TO POWER

took some sleep, for the ceremonies will
start just before midnight.”

Beckoning to Larry to follow, the high
priest went out.

The old doctor drew a breath of relief.

"Well, it looks as if things were turn-
ing out to our advantage, in spite of the
probable loss of the talisman,” said he.

"What made you block my plans?”
whispered Leda aossly. "You could have
sent police — lots of people — for me later,
if you’d gone away right now.”

"Yes?” sarcasdcally answered Henry
Winch. "If you think we are going to
leave here for the hours it might take us
to get help, and meantime abandon you
to the questionable mercy of these — ^well
— lunatics, you’ve got another guess com-
ing, Leda.”

Doctor Peabody intervened.

"You’d better try to eat something, my
child, and get a good sleep,” he sug-
gested gently. "In faa, I imagine if we
all took turns in keeping short watches —
although I hardly think it necessary now
— ^we could all get some sleep. We need
it. And we may have severe strains on
our bodies and minds before this night is
over and we are in actual safety again.”

Gemma fell to sobbing hysterically
again.

CHAPTER 16

I T LACKED an hour to midnight when
Quint, at the head of a gorgeously ap-
parelled cortege, appeared as escort for
Leda’s gilded litter. She, it appeared, was
to head the procession, and behind her
special bodyguard the rest of the party
might walk.

Old Job kissed his niece with particu-
lar tenderness as he and Henry Winch
assisted her into the. litter. Doaor Pea-
body, however, observed that it was to
the secretary that the parting pressure of
her hand was given, although her eyes

did not meet the young man’s beseech-
ing gaze.

'The ebon-skinned bearers lifted the lit-
ter and moved slowly away with measured
steps. Into line behind and about them
fell the glittering cortege of attendants,
each with a bulb-tipped spear. At these
slender wands the greedy eyes of Larry
Weaver looked longingly, and seeing
this, the doaor was obliged to tap the
pilot's arm in warning.

"Just the same,” muttered Larry, "I’d
like to get hold of one right now. Seems
to me that if I sent my wishes along one,
it might do a trifle of execution right
here and now, besides opening glass
walls.”

"Your surmise may be right — and it
may be wrong, young man,” said the doc-
tor severely, as the two strode along with
the rest of the party. Captain limping
somewhat in the rear on his small "foots,”
about which he occasionally uttered a
mournful complaint.

"Oh, my foots, my foots! Mus’ git me
anudder spell.”

"If I’m right, couldn’t I send this
bundi of fellows about their business and
get us headed for the plateau? The
’Queen’ is up there, all sa and rarin’ to

go"

"You might succeed, Larry, and again,
think what it would mean to us all if you
didn’t. It is within the limits of possi-
bility that those spears are only to open
walls,” said the doaor dryly.

Larry made a wry face.

"Just the same. I’d like to make a tty
at it.”

"Later it might be forced upon us to
make a try at it,” said the doaor, and
sighed heavily as he walked along.

Henry Winch had attached himself to
Job Scudder, and the two were talking
earnestly in low tones as they marched
behind Leda’s litter.

"If ever we get out of here,” the sec-

WEIRD TALES

retaty said in a slightly louder voice,
his emotion overcoming his caution,
•TU ”

"Silence!” came from Quint at the head
of the column. "We are approaching the
inner temple of the Most High Gods.”

The floors had changed from golden
glass to opalescent and milky beauty that
seemed indeed jewels of various hues
sunken into invisible settings beneath
their feet. Tall pillars of the same opal
hues upheld the vaulted ceiling that
completed the austerely simple interior of
the inner temple.

Down a long aisle the procession
marched, to a humming murmur from
the throats of hundreds of kneeling men
and women, who were scattered here and
there in small groups between the
columns of the temple. This murmur in-
creased in volume as they proceeded,
until it became almost intolerable to the
ear, for it carried a regular rhythmic beat
in its undertones, that hammered on the
ear like the heavy pulsing measures of
African-derived jazz.

In that shimmering, moon-like glow,
the cortege passed upward on a slight in-
chne that led to a mammoth portal,
before which hung tall tapestries in silver,
gold and jewels. At the approach of
Leda’s gilded litter, the curtains drew to
one side and the doaor and Larry
Weaver exchanged quick glances of com-
prehension; they had seen the foremost of
the escort direaing their bulb-tipped
wands at the hangings as they drew near.

So it was that easy, said Larry’s look,
scornfully. But the old doaor’s grave
countenance did not look as triumphant
as the airman’s.

Into the slight opening made by the
withdrawal of the curtains the procession
continued, and at last the members of the
party also marched within. Behind them
the draperies dropped back into place si-
lently, without touch of human hand.

They were standing in a smaller room;
floor, ceiling, walls, all of gloriously
veined black marble. An altar of what
appeared solid gold gleamed dully neat
the rear of the room. Behind it was a
great gold and jewelled diair on such
high legs that it had to be mounted by
means of steps at one side. Beneath the
chair a golden brazier stood, and from
it curled upward spiral wreaths of pale
bluish-gray smoke that twisted and
swayed as the currents of air induced by
the entrance of the company now set
upon it from all sides.

"Oddly pimgent odor,” murmured
Henry WinA to old Job, sniffing the air
suspiciously. "It actually gives one a sort
of exalted feeling, what?”

The magnate nodded slowly, his nos-
trils dilated, for the smell of that smolder-
ing incense in the golden brazier re-
minded him of something that his mind
vainly attempted to capture for several
minutes. All at once he had it. . . .

"Delphic oracle!” he whispered por-
tentously to the secretary. 'Then, "Do
they actually intend to have Leda sit up
there in those heavy fumes?”

Henry Winch, grasping the signif-
icance now of that strangely intoxicating
perfume, and the strategic position of the
brazier, felt the blood forsaking his
tanned cheeks.

‘"That’s — that’s ghastly,” he murmured
sotto voce to Job. "We can’t allow that.
Those fumes turn one’s head — it makes
one — crazy. If that is what they

mean ” and he lapsed into silence,

but it was not the silence of realized im-
potency; for something about the way his
lips writhed back from his even white
teeth betrayed the thoughts that must
have been passing in his mind.

"Yes — there’s no doubt about it —
that’s exaaly what they intend to do,”
groaned old Job, as he grasped the sec-
retary’s arm convulsively.

THE PORTAL TO POWER

(75

Henry Winch took a step forward, his
lips parting as if he would cry out in pro-
test. He found himself checked by the
severe face of the old doaor, whose hand
was warningly on his shoulder.

“Not so fast, young man. Not so fast,”
said the doaor’s low voice.

"But to have them using Leda in their
ghastly experiments!”

"Now is not the time to interfere,"
warned the doaor. "I give you my word
as a medical man, that no harm will come
to Leda from this exposure to the fumes
of those herbs and spices. The whole
thing is suggestible; she may not even
yield to it, if her whole mind is set upon
retaining her own consciousness. And in
that case,” said he thoughtfully, "I doubt
if she will be chosen as high priestess,
for the whole aim here is to undermine
the personal will of the priestess, so that
other outside wills can make their entry
into her body to control her aaions and
her voice.”

"Interesting, but not convincing
enough to hold me back,” the secraary
replied in the same low voice. "So we
are to wait here to see whether or not my
poor girl succumbs to the influence of
the incense?”

"His poor girl?” thought the doaor,
but said nothing aloud.

"There is nothing to be done at this
particular moment,” Larry joined in soft-
ly. He had been listening to the others in
silence. "How could we ever make our
gaaway through that bunch out in the
big room, and with the rest of the bunch
in here?”

Henry Winch nodded impatient ac-
quiescence. Larry was right. There was
nothing for it but to await the event.
And the event was on the forward march.

F rom a doorway in the black marble
toward the rear of the room a golden
door swung open, and the high priest

entered the room. For a moment he stood
motionless, his arms raised in a benedic-
tory manner; then he gestured to the men
of the escort, who one by one slipped out
into the main auditorium through the rich
hangings, leaving in the iimer sanctuary
only the high priest. Quint, and the mem-
bers of the little party from the "Queen.”

Yet that there was some one eke near
at hand became evident, when from
beyond the open doorway sounded the
light tapping of Pan’s hoofs.

Gemma, her eyes enormous with ter-
ror, hastily stuffed her handkerchief into
her mouth to muffle her gasping sobs.
Sir Hubert moved unobtrusively nearer
her, his eyes on her pale face.

Behind them wilt^ the corpulent form
of the black chef, his small eyes peering
out from the folds of flesh, full of fear.
That he understood something of the
significance of the scene could not be
denied, ya his fright had so robbed him
of ability to use any mental processes
that all he could do, apparently, was to
stand there muttering beneath his breath:
"Mus’ git me anudder spell. Mus’ git me
anudder spell.”

"Shut up. Captain,” whispered Larry
fiercely, shoving one doubled fist under
the chef’s snub nose.

Captain shrank back but continued to
mutter softly, his eyes on the jewelled
breastplate the high priest wore.

The priest, seeing that the last mem-
ber of the escort had left the room, as-
sisted Leda from the litter,

"Your place, maiden, is here,” said he,
indicating the tall golden chair. "You
need do nothing but lean back quietly,
and relax.”

Hastily the old doaor bent his head
over Gemma and whispered.

"Tell your mistress — quickly — in Ital-
ian — not to la go her hold on her con-
scious will for a single moment,” he said

WEIRD TALES

rapidly. "She understands Italian, doesn’t
she?"

'The Italian girl nodded, and pulled the
handkerchief from her mouth. A few
words in her native tongue. , . .

Leda, mounting the steps to the tall
chair, hesitated a moment and then made
a slight — a very slight — affirmative move-
ment of her sleek dark head.

The dcKtor drew a long sigh of relief.
She had understood that the message was
a warning for herself, for her eyes had
been on his face as she gave th^t slow
nod. But the high priest turned, his face
disturbed, and cried out at Gemma to
remain silent or she would be sent out-
side. Gemma subsided, whimpering, but
meeting the doaor’s half-smile, some-
thing of comfort must have stolen into
her heart, judging from her expression.

"Lean back, maiden,” the priest now
directed Leda. "Relax. Let yourself go —
go-go. . . .”

The low, hypnotic drawl continued,
and the priest’s smile told the doaor that
the Pan-worshipper believed the girl had
let herself go completely, for she had
settled herself in the diair with an air of
relief, her eyelids drooping mysteriously
over her warm brown eyes as if heavy
with luxurious abandonment. Still the
old physician’s faded blue eyes peered
through his bifocals fixedly and at last he
saw that one of her index fingers, resting
on an arm of the chair, was tapping
rhythmically, then irregularly. He drew
in a sharp breath; she was doing, in-
mitively, exaaly the right thing; keeping
herself widely alert by a consciously
direaed physical movement.

"I believe ever5^ing is coming along
all right,” whispered the doaor then, to
encourage Job, who was in turn patting
the shoulder of the seaetary in friendly
fashion.

"Let’s hope so,” muttered Henry

Winch from one comer of his mouth.
His brows were set in a heavy scowl.

The Airedale, on its leash held by the
secretary, sniffed, uneasily, and paid no
attention to Suki, seated on his back.
Plainly, Whiskers was most uncomfort-
able. More than once he had assumed
the unmistakable attitude of one about to
bay the moon, and had only been aroused
and distraaed from his intent by the
jerking of the leash and his master’s
sharp, low order.

Now the high priest spoke again to
Leda, removing as he spoke the jewelled
breastplate, and laying it on the golden
altar.

"Maiden chosen of the Most High
Gods, this is the moment to deliver to
the world the Portal of Power.”

He stretched up a questing hand, and
the girl, with the air of a sleepwalker,
fumbled in her bosom and drew out the
talisman. As she let it drop into the high
priest’s waiting palm, her whole manner
that of one overcome by irresistible
drowsiness, the old doaor eyed her with
apprehension; only that index finger, tap-
tapping on the arm of the chair, could
reassure him.

"My admiration for Leda grows by
leaps and bounds,” whispered he to old
Job. '"That child is wonderful. . . .”

'The air magnate’s impatient jerk of
heavy shoulders spoke of his proud ac-
ceptance of a tribute that he felt was
deserved.

'The high priest now bent over the altar
and laid the talisman in the center of the
breastplate. 'Then he lifted both arms and
began to chant in a mixture of Latin and
some other unkn own tongue. The mur-
murs from the great hall without dropped
when his voice rang out; at each pause,
responses came in a thimderous roar of
chanting voices that reverberated througjh
the small room, echoing back and forth

THE PORTAL TO POWER

loudly even when he began to speak
again.

His eyes were fixed on the gleaming
stone atop the altar. Occasionally he
would bend over it as if addressing some
part of his invocation directly to it. On
such occasions it was plainly seen by all
the strained eyes observing him that
sparides of brilliant light came from the
stone, synchronizing with the resonant
tones of the old man’s ringing voice. At
such times, also, the clouds of incense
from the brazier appeared to thicken and
pour upward more heavily, curling about
the girl in the tall golden chair until she
was momentarily hidden from sight.
And when that happened, the convulsive
grasp of Henry Winch on the arm of the
old doaor became so imconsciously cruel
that John Peabody winced.

Quietly — so quietly that they hardly
noticed his advent — the Goat-man had
entered the room and moved close to the
golden chair above the smoking brazier.
When he seated himself on one of the
rungs by which Leda had mounted, and
began surveying those present with his
sly, cunning glances, the doaor found it
difi&cult to restrain the secretary from
springing away from the party and going
to the other side of the altar, as if to be in
readiness to protea Leda in case of need.

T he tone of the incantation was
changing subtly. Something was
stirring arout the room that could not be
seen yet by mortal eyes, although it could
now be felt by mortal senses. The rhyth-
mic swing of the high priest’s chant and
the measured beat of the responses from
the initiates in the great hall seemed now
to shake the solid marble with regular
vibrations.

"Am I imagining it, or is this marble
actually vibrating imder my feet?’’ de-
manded the secretary of the doaor softly.

"It is vibrating. It is the beginning of
the end,’’ replied the old doaor solemnly.
"Their incantations are beginning to
work.’’

"God, but it’s imcanny!’’

"It is the rousing of subtle, powerful
influences from other planes that you are
feeling now,’’ whispered the doaor.
'"They are beginning to stir with life,'
with the hope of entering onto this plane
once more, through the devotion of their
worshippers and through the means
afforded by the talisman.’’

As he spoke, the doaor regarded Leda
with anxiety. As if in answer to his
solicitude, he saw her heavy lids move
ever so slightly, and the warm brown
eyes, he could have sworn, regarded him
earnestly. When one lid flickered in an
unmistakable wink, he caught himself
smiling dryly. 'The girl was awake, alert,
signalling to him her constant watchful-
ness. He was satisfied that so far all was
well with her.

The heavy thrumming vibrations in-
aeased steadily. It was now as if the
entire room were swinging and moving in
all direaions simultaneously. Every mol-
ecule of marble appeared to be in rapid
vibration. It was a sickening as well as a
frightening feeling.

Gemma, forgetful of her antipathy for
Sir Hubert, was hanging on his arm, her
face a Greek mask of horror; eyes wide,
mouth squared. Sir Hubert’s counte-
nance, on the contrary, was an odd mix-
ture of consternation and sheepish bliss.

Now the high priest, his face shining,
his whole mien that of one who wel-
comes the Joyful Incomprehensible,
stepped closer to the altar with waving
arms. Pan arose from his seat at the feet
of the girl and moved toward the altar,
but his eyes did not leave Leda’s form,
and there was a sniggering grin on his
sly face.

WEIRD TALES

"Behold! Great and beneficent powers
that lie beyond the veil of our dull human
senses, behold the willing sacrifice!
Behold the virgin maid, who lays her
chaste body upon your altar! Descend,
high priestess, and deliver yourself up
unto the Most High Gods’ will!”

At that call, Leda Scudder’s slender
body trembled visibly, and Henry Winch
uttered a strangely choked sound between
tightly clenched teeth.

The girl arose slowly, dreamily, and
went down the steps of the golden chair;
moved toward the altar, behind which
must also have been steps, for presently
she mounted steadily, and stepped upon
the altar, again with a shudder that diey
all could note.

"Most High Gods! The living sacri-
fice!"

"White, white flesh!” tittered Pan, his
eyes leeringly on the girl’s body.

"Red, gushing blood!” jerked as if un-
willingly from the lips of Quint, whose
hand was fumbling about his garments as
if to seek something. His eyes were
glowing with strange fires.

'The high priest reached out and
plucked a dagger from his grandson’s
girdle, and in a voice of high rebuke ex-
claimed, "No blood, I say! We serve the
Good, not the Evil, Gods!”

'The grinding of Quint’s teeth could be
heard in the silence that followed, for
the chanting from without had died
away to a low murmur of hammering
rhythm. With a stamp of one foot, he
turned his back to the party, and from
under lowering brows regarded Pan
fixedly.

Under that look the Goat-man’s sly face
wakened. His hairy hands reached out to
seize the nearer corners of the altar and
he lowered his tumbled head down upon
it close to Leda’s sandalled feet, as if to
kiss them with his slobbering mouth.

Henry Winch uttered a low groan.

"I kiss the pure feet of her who is to
bring us the messages of the Most High
Gods,” shrilled the high, tittering voice
of Pan. "Virgin Maid, you are devoted
now and consecrated to the will of the
Most High Gods, and to the will of Pan.”

The dark head moved forward until
the rumpled black hair fell back from the
forehead, exposing two shining knobby
horns of blade.

Henry Winch began shaking as if
stricken by a palsy.

"Do you devote yourself, maiden, with-
out a single personal reservation?” de-
manded the high priest’s voice clearly,
during a lull in the incantations from the
initiates without.

Leda did not open her eyes wide, but
seemed to assent sleepily.

*1116 doaor was regarding her now
with anxious solidtude.

"Your white flesh — ^your red blood —
your virginity — all is at the service of the
Most High Gods, maiden, in whatsoever
mode they see fit to call upon them?”
pursued the high priest.

Again Leda appeared to give assent.

"'Then all is prepared,” cried the priest
jubilantly. "The way is deared for the
Gods to enter. Come! Come, High Gods!
Enter this chaste tabemade prepared for
your deleaation!”

"I say! This thing has gone far
enough!” rang out the voice of Henry
Winch.

"Silence, irreverent and rash fool!”
shouted the priest.

Pan’s head lifted from the altar. In-
scrutable, sly eyes moved to the secre-
tary’s flushed, angry countenance, and
rested there.

"Hush, boy, for God’s sake!” begged
the old physician.

"Hush nothing,” retorted the secre-
tary furiously. "Think I’m going to stand

THE PORTAL TO POWER

here and let God knows what obscene
forces take possession of my wife’s body?”

Silence, heavy and ominous. . . .

The high priest, as if shot, turned in-
credulous eyes upon the secretary.

"Those are startling words,” he said,
with an effort, "words of ominous im-
port, young man. Wife — did you say,
wife?"

"No, no!” cried Leda passionately from
the altar.

But the seaetaty paid no attention to
her.

"I said 'wife’,” he asserted, his bla 2 -
ing eyes going here and there as if daring
any one to dispute his word.

"Our arts have shown this woman to
be a virgin,” declared the priest heavily.
"It can not be that we have made any
errors in our calculations. But — 'wife’ —
that can mean but one thing. You must
prove your statement,” he flashed at the
secretary.

"It is true. You dare not deny our
marriage,” cried out Henry Winch direa-
ly to Leda, whose lips compressed as she
did not reply,

"Then it is true,” whispered the high
priest as if to himself, and leaned against
the golden altar as if stupefied by the sud-
den revelation, "Wife! His wife!”

CHAPTER 17

“TTTlFB is what I said,” repeated

W Henry Winch stubbornly. "Any-
body got any^ing to say now?”

'"That is no way to go about saving
Leda, young man,” John Peabody re-
buked gravely. "Do you reali 2 e what you
are saying?”

"Apparently my word isn’t enough,”
said the secretary bitterly. "Mr. Scudder,
be good enough to tell these incredulous
people what you know about the situa-
tion.”

Job Scudder looked, not at the rest of

the party, but at his old friend, as he
nodded reluaantly.

"I’ve seen their marriage certificate,”
said he unwillingly.

"Certificate? A certificate doesn’t neces-
sarily make a wife. You — ^Winch — ^how
did this thing happen and how far has it
gone?” Quint demanded significantly.

Turning not to Quint but to the old
doaor, Henry Winch spoke rapidly,
almost incoherently,

"I’d just graduated, and she came to
the prom, and we — we fell in love. At
least, / did. 'There was a bunch of us,
making whoopee, and some one dared us
to get married. And we did.”

"I was spifflicated. Uncle Job. Honest-
ly, I was,” pleaded Leda from the altar,
her face pitiful. "I’ve been so dam
ashamed of myself since that I’ve thought
I could just die when I thought about it.
And he lied to me about his name,” she
declared with a hard look at the secre-
ury, "or I think I might have forgiven
him.”

The secretary groaned aloud.

"I told her the tmth; at least, half of
it,” said he wretchedly. "But she’s been
hating me because she blames me for not
having held back from marrying her.
How could I, when I was mad over her?
When I told her my name was Hubert
Wynne "

"What made you lie to me? I’d stick
to a man I loved even if he were a — a
servant — ^if I thought him worthy of my
love.”

"I didn’t lie, I tell you.” Henry Winch
— or Hubert Wynne — turned his face to
her for a moment, then addressed the
doaor again. "I’d just learned that I’d
come into the title. My uncle from Eng-
land, who’d come over for my gradua-
tion, had died of apoplexy, and I was
afraid Leda might be influenced by the
title. As it was, she accused me of being

WEIRD TALES

an adventurer and said she never wanted
to see me again. That was the morning
after we were married, while the bunch
of us were breakfasting at a Qiilds
restaurant.”

"Oh!” sighed the girl on the altar,
sickly. "So you came after me, masquer-
' ading as a servant?”

"I hoped — oh, I know now that I was
a fool!— ^at you might realize my devo-
tion and learn to love me for myself. I
see now that it was nothing but a crazy
dream.”

"I don’t know about that,” said the
girl spiritedly.

"What do you mean? WTiat ?”

Her cheeks were reddening but her
smile must have held some happy mes-
sage for Sir Hubert — the real Sir Hubert
— upon whose countenance an answering
brightness grew.

As the two stared at each other in the
silence that still hung over the little room,
the real Henry Winch’s voice sprang into
loud prominence.

"I tell you, Gemma, s’help me, you’re
the only girl I ever wanted to marry. See?
You wouldn’t believe me when I said my
name was Henry, would you?”

"If you liked me so well, why did you
go away after that night we met in the
waiting-room at the prom? And never
come back!”

"His fault. Whisked me off in a hurry,
and then made me pretend I was him,”
muttered the valet. "Anyway, you didn't
give me your address.”

Gemrha’s mouth opened wide, '"rhat’s
true, Henry. I forgive you.”

"What is all this idiotic balderdash?”
exclaimed Quint’s voice impatiently. "Is
Leda Scudder a wife, or not?”

"I tell you. I’ve seen her marriage cer-
dficate,” retorted Job, with resentment.

Pan uttered a mighty shout most unlike

his usual tittering laughter. It was the
uproarious laugh of triumph.

"A wife! The high priestess is no high
priestess! She is a wife!”

He readied up hairy arms and grasping
Leda about the knees lifted her down
from the altar, still uttering bellows of
wild laughter.

"Good Lord! WTiat is he trying to
do?” demanded old Job, his eyes pro-
truding with amazement and appre-
hension.

"There is no sacred virgin here!”
shouted the Goat-man, with another great
peal of mad laughter that rang and re-
sounded in the little room. "Then she is
mine for the taking! Come, girl, for Pan
has much to teach you,” and he tried to
draw her away with him toward the
golden door.

Leda struggled in his grasp as he held
her tighter and gloated upon her with
wild, beastly eyes in which glinted cruelty
as well as mischief.

"Take your filthy hands off my wife!”
shouted Sir Hubert, springing fiercely to
the rescue.

H e had almost reached her side, when
between himself and the girl he
loved pushed something black, obscene,
leering, horrible. . . . Like a huge gorilla,
filled with pulsing power and animal
emotions, the negro chef interposed him-
self with irresistible power in front of Sir
Hubert, and seized the fainting form of
Leda from Pan’s suddenly yielding arms.
The Goat-man retreated in a kind of
astonished confusion.

"Doaor! Doaor! Did you see what
Captain did?” cried out Larry into the
doaor’s ear.

"Don’t talk. We’ve got to check this
madness at once. Have you the pistol?”
demanded Job Scudder.

'Blood must not be shed,” declared the

W. T.— 5

THE PORTAL TO POWER

doctor positively. "We must try to save
her by some other means, if possible.
There is Dread Evil abroad, and freshly
shed blood would only call it closer.”

"But — doctor — Captain — - the fat

fool ” stammered Larry excitedly.

"He stole die talisman. Didn’t you see
him?”

"Good God!” ejaculated the doaor.
"He stole it? Then heaven help us all,
for the powers of evil may enter now, un-
obstruaed. Even now

He started across the room, colliding
on his way with the high priest. His ears,
attuned to hear whatever might have the
slightest bearing on the situation, were
perhaps the only ones in the room to take
in the priest’s cry as the latter ran out-
side the hangings. It was a cry that bade
the murmuring initiates stop their en-
treaties and reverse the spells they had
started. It was a cry that told them that
the entry onto the world-plane must be
blocked at once to incoming powers. It
was a cry that warned them of something
unforeseen that had happened.

Captain — leering, horrible, his wide
white teeth showing in a terrible grin of
defiance — sustained the drooping form of
Leda over his left arm, and with his
clenched ri^t fist, in which was the
talisman, he held ofif the entire party now
attacking him from various motives.

"Give me the talisman, you fat fool!”
Quint was shouting in a furious voice.
"Keep the girl, but give me the stone!"

"No, you don’t, fella!” came Larry’s
voice, suiking down the hand of Quint
that reached out to snatch the talisman
from Captain’s fist. "Hey, Captain, old
fellow, give it to me!”

Captain, however, had become in truth
transformed. Like an ugly gorilla he
stood at bay, now hugging Leda against
his breast with an air of defiance. 'The
small, deep-set eyes that squinted out at
W. T— 6

them held something mote than a simple
human will; they were sparkling with
malevolent consciousness of power. . . .

About the negro chef surged and
swirled those heavy vibrations that had
been started into being by the incanta-
tions of the initiates. He had become, by
his theft of the stone, a nucleus for the
embodiment of evil powers. 'The sly leer
of Pan, and his slightly disappointed air,
spoke louder than words. Moreover, the
air hung heavy with portent, thrumming
and buzzing with die movement of in-
telligently direaed forces, strange, un-
canny. . . .

Sir Hubert, vainly attempting to wrest
Leda’s inert form from the possessed Cap-
tain, cried aloud in anguish. 'The Aire-
dale, finding the leash loose, was nipping
about Captain’s ankles suspiciously, occa-
sionally dodging a mighty kick direaed
at him by the growling, transformed
negro chef.

"What a fool I am! God, what a fool!"
Larry’s voice rang out in a kind of frenzy.

Quint, still struggling to open the fat
fist that held the talisman, fell back
before the sudden approach of the air-
man, who had been fumbling in his
pockets with very apparent excitement.

"What on earth did I do with it?”
Larry was talking aloud as he fumbled.
Then, his nervous look changing to one
of triumph, he dashed at Captain con-
fidently. "Captain, old chap, look! Give
me that silly stone, old fellow. Look! I
pidced it up where you dropped it.
Venus’s rabbit’s foot. Captain! I'll swap
it for the stone.”

The leering monster lowered upon
Larry, who held something out eagerly
and insistently. Still he made no move to
deliver up the talisman.

Leda stirred. Opened her eyes. Man-
aged to get her feet to the ground and
stand, although still in the grasp of the

WEIRD TALES

fat chef. Shuddering, she strained away
from him, and at Larry’s desperate in-
sistence, she realized what had occurred.

"Take it. Captain,” she murmured, her
body trembling in his grasp. "Give the
stone to Larry, Captain. He’ll give you
your Venus’s rabbit foot. Captain. Take
it. Captain. Give Larry the stone ”

At the continued repetition. Captain’s
leering face turned downward upon what
lay in Larry’s hand. He reached out his
fist, opening it to drop the stone onto
Larry’s palm, at the same time grabbing
at the furry talisman the pilot proffered.
He let Leda go automatically, and an ex-
pression of bliss spread over his fat face,
from which the ugly leer slowly faded.

Sir Hubert had drawn the girl into his
arms, and she rested there supinely, her
head against his breast. 'The young noble-
man looked as if he were in Paradise; he
was blind to whatever else was going on
about them. His cheek rested on Leda’s
dark head, his eyes were half closed. Old
Job, regarding the pair, felt moisture
dimming his own eyes.

Muttering joyfully to himself. Captain
waddled slowly to another part of the
room, unobserved now that he was no
longer the horrid center of attraction.
Between his cupped palms he was hold-
ing the rabbit’s foot.

'The talisman in his left hand, Larry
was confronting Quint, whose heavy and
powerful body poised itself in the aa of
springing upon him.

"No, you don’t!” warned Larry softly,
and took out his automatic with a sar-
donic grin.

An ugly look darkened Quint’s face.
He hesitated.

"Makes you think, fella.^” laughed
Larry lightly. "Now you’re going to
think some more. March ahead of me to
the curtains there, and call in one of
those men with the spears.”

Cold fury in Quint’s eyes. . . .

"Hear me, fella? You march, and keep
your trap shut or I’ll bore a coupla holes
in you,” Larry threatened genially.

A moment later. Quint was gesturing
the attendant to retire, and Larry, with a
jerk of his head, beckoned the doaor to
his side.

"Here’s one of those things, doaor, to
open the walls,” said the pilot guardedly.
"You’d better take it. You know some-
thing about these performances and I
don’t. Now we’d better vamoose. Which
way is out, fella?” the airman asked of
Quint.

Quint’s smile was sardonic in turn.

"If you wish to walk around luitil the
golden wall blocks your egress,” Quint
observed sarcastically, "you certainly are
at liberty to do so, as far as I am con-
cerned. You can reach the street from
the corridor that door opens upon. From
there you can easily see which way to go,”
and he uttered a short, scornful laugh.

"That’ll be all, fella. Folks, attention!
Doaor, for the Lord’s sake, wake up these
lovers,” groaned Larry disgustedly, sur-
veying the two absorbed groups.

Sir Hubert caught the tone and looked
up slowly. 'Then his eyes became alert
and he whispered to the girl in his arms.

"Friends,” said the doaor’s low but
penetrating voice, "we must make haste,
for we do not know how long we may
be able to command our own aaions.
Listen. . . .”

The charaaer of the measured, rhyth-
mic humming from the great hall had
altered subtly.

"Everybody on their way!” Larry
direaed, pointing to the exit. "I’ve got
the gun, and I’ll keep ’em off while the
rest of you make the gaaway.”

"Larry, for God’s sake, be careful,”
warned the air magnate apprehensively.
"If anything happens to you, well all be

THE PORTAL TO POWER

stuck on die plateau. The ’Queen’ is use-
less without a pilot."

"Don’t be afraid, Mr. Scudder. I
understand and will be very careful,” re-
plied the airman.

His eyes sought those of Sir Hubert,
who came toward him with Leda. 'The
two men clasped hands for a moment,
looking into eadi other’s eyes in silent
exchange of some secret message.

"After you, my dear Gaston,” mur-
mured Larry then, with a sharp glance at
Quint who was loaning against the altar
with apparent lack of interest in proceed-
ings.

"Hurry, Larry,” said the girl gently,
and walked rapidly away, urged by Sir
Hubert’s hand under her elbow.

T he entire party disappeared through
the door, and Larry could hear their
echoing feet on the marble pavement.
The Airedale was last to go, sniffing at
Larry in a puzzled manner before frisk-
ing off through the door, Suki clinging
to its back. 'The pilot gave his attention
then to the indifferent lounging figure of
Quint.

"Now,” said he persuasively, "I won-
der how long I’ve got to keep you here?
Perhaps the best thing will be to march
you ahead of me for a short distance?
All right, fella. Forward, march!”

And with Quint, arms held high,
marching ahead, the airman walked out
of the altar room and down the long
corridor, gained the street, holding his
gun on Quint steadily.

Ahead, mounting the staircase that led
to the golden glass wall, the rest of the
party appeared. Whiskers scampering
before them. Larry hastened his steps.

"Let you go back in a coupla minutes,
fella,” he announced, his eyes on the old
doctor, who was holding a bulb-tipped
wand toward the wall, while the balance

of the party stood behind him motionless.

After a moment, Larry’s grin became
triumphant.

"S^ms all right now, fella.”

"Damnation!” exclaimed Quint venom-
ously, seeing the golden glass recede in
thick folds upon itself, opening the way
to die party.

"For you, perhaps,” retorted Larry,
still cheerful. "Now you can get along
back and do what you please, fella. I'm
going with the rest of the bunch. It’ll
take you a while to get any of your peo-
ple on our track, and tefore you can get
to the plateau, we’ll be on our way.”

Quint dropped his arms as the airman
passed him on a dead run. But the ugly
vindiaiveness of that heavily handsome
face had never shown so clearly. He
waited until Larry had slipped through
the golden wall, then also running, fol-
lowed speedily on Ae airman’s heels.

CHAPTER 18

I T WAS not until Larry was ascending
Ae tortuously winding staircase of glass
Aat he became aware Aat Quint was fol-
lowing close behind,

"Keep off, fella!” he shouted once, and
waved Ae automatic in warning.

Quint paused until a turn of Ae stairs
hid him from view, Aen came on, gain-
ing little by little on hb quarry.

Hearing Ae approaching Aud of Ae
oAer man’s feet on Ae glass behind him,
Larry, panting wiA breaAlessness, urged
himself on, turning Ae sharp corners so
fast Aat more Aan once he skidded and
felt his heart fail him as he almost slipped
backward down Aose glisteningly smooth
steps.

When, upon turning an unusually
sharp corner, he did stumble, Ae pilot
did not stop to retrieve Ae automatic Aat
had been jeAed from his hand and had
slid, bumping, down to Ae beginning of

WEIRD TALES

the turn. Larry dared not stop. If he re-
turned for the gun, he might very well
collide with Quint before regaining it, or
Quint himself might pick it up before
Larry could do so. Also Quint was more
than his match physically. He felt thank-
ful that the jar had not made him lose his
hold on the talisman which his left hand
still held convulsively. He cursed himself
inwardly for not having given the stone
to the doaor.

Meantime, Quint came steadily on.
And so it was that when Larry Weaver
emerged under the midnight stars, it was
with his pursuer direaly on his heels.

The party had reached the "Queen”
and were all anxiously watching the top
of the stairs, with the exception of Cap-
tain, who had retired precipitately to his
kitchenette, into whiA he had locked
himself and his Venus’s rabbit foot, rely-
ing quite as much upon a turned key, ap-
parently, as upon the charm.

When the panting airman emerged, a
low murmur of relief arose from the lips
of all, a murmur that changed to one of
dismay and apprehension as the squat and
powerful form of Quint appeared almost
simultaneously. The doaor and Sir
Hubert started across the plateau at once.
But, long before even their hurrying steps
could have reached the two men, the
duel was on.

There were no words spoken. Each
man saved his breath for the struggle
which he knew must end in death for one
of them; their eyes said that plainly to
each other as they came to grips, Larry
incommoded by the talisman which he
still held tightly in his left hand. Quint’s
utmost efforts were direaed to seizing that
hand and wresting from it the Portal to
Power.

So the two men, pressed against each
other like a single swaying unit, strug-
gled, writhed, twisted, on the verge of the

sheer descent to the canyon and die rush-
ing, roaring waters of the Colorado
below.

Panting, his left arm held high, Larry
hopefully watched the rapid approach of
his rescuers. But he was too badly
handicapped. He knew that before they
could reach him. Quint would have
wrested the talisman from him and could
only too easily be down the staircase and
away. And below, in an angle of the
stairs, lay Larry’s automatic. . . . 'The cards
were in Quint’s hands.

"Keep it up, Larry. We’ll be with you
in a minute!” Sir Hubert was shouting as
he ran.

"'Throw it!” almost screamed the quick-
witted old doaor. "'Throw it to me!”

On the very verge of the precipice the
two men battled grimly, in a dreadful
silence. Larry’s arm was in Quint’s grasp.

In another moment With a sudden

burst of will-power, Larry jerked his arm
from Quint’s hold. His hand flew back
over his head, then forward — a glitter-
ing, milky thing hiunmed through the air,
to drop flashing at the doctor’s feet like a
fallen fiery comet.

The old doctor chedked himself, picked
up the talisman and quickly thrust it into
a vest pocket. He would have hastened
onward again, had he not been held back
by the sudden stop of Sir Hubert, who as
he paused gave voice to an involuntary
groan of dismay and grief.

From the rest of the party no sound
came, although even the dim starlight
could not hide the outcome of the strug-
gle from them.

Larry had lost his balance in that last
frantic effort to keep the stone out of
Quint’s grasping hand. He staggered on
the edge of the plateau; for a moment it
looked as if he would regain his equilib-
rium. But the other man, with a callous
fury, gave him a quick push.

THE PORTAL TO POWER

The pilot went toppling out into space.
But not alone. At the touch of that mur-
derous hand, the airman made his last at-
tempt. Disdaining to make a vain effort
to regain his lost balance, he actually
twisted his body in the air, and seized
with a final straining effort the fingers
that were condemning him to death.

A laugh of triumph from Larry’s lips
as he disappeared from sight, accom-
panied by a screamed curse from Quint,
who found himself condemned to follow
his victim into the whirling, dashing cur-
rents of the river below.

A SILENCE, heavy and mournful,
reigned after those two cries of tri-
umph and despair. The numbing knowl-
edge of Larry’s death, and the realization
of what it meant to them all — apart from
the grief with which the gallant yoimg
man’s tragic end had oppressed them —
bowed every member of the party in hor-
ror and dismay.

"Poor, gallant lad,” said the old
physician softly, as he stood at the edge
of the plateau, straining his eyes vainly
for any trace of the two who had dis-
appeared an instant before. "Noble lad,
loyal to the last.”

"There could be no finer epitaph,”
agreed Sir Hubert, his voice trembling
slightly. "I know that better than any one
else here. You see, we had a long talk

this afternoon, and I told him ”

Leda had run to them and interrupted,
her voice shaky with the sobs she could
hardly restrain.

[THE

"Hubert, don’t you think that per-
haps ?”

Sir Hubert shook his head.

"They have gone forever, dear. The
descent is sheer at this point. Their bodies
have been whirled miles away by this
time. You do well to weep for him,” he
added, gently, "for he was a gallant man
and he loved you nobly, Leda.”

Job, coming up to them, whispered
anxiously to the doctor.

"We are trapped here. Larry had the
only weapon, and he’s gone. And here
we are, trapped.”

"Trapped.^” Sir Hubert asked.

"What good is the ’Queen’ to us with-
out a pilot?”

"L^ry knew that I have a pilot’s
license. That is why he didn’t try to save
his life, but took the post of danger
guarding our rear.”

Sir Hubert’s voice grew suddenly
hoarse, and he turned his face away from
his friends.

"Good-bye, dear Larry,” whispered
Leda, and kissed her hand tearfully down-
ward into the darkness that had swal-
lowed the airman.

Had there been human eyes observing
later on, they would have seen the
"Queen” hovering over the roaring tor-
rent in the canyon, while her passengers
prayed silently for the gallant young man
who had met death so suddenly, so fear-
lessly.

And then, rising swiftly, she took her
way to the western coast, bearing the
Portal to Power on her wings.

END]

The Avenging Shadow

By ARLTON EADIE

Practising forbidden arts in mediaeval Naples, Taso Vitelli sought to outwit
the Prince of Darkness, but "He who sups with the Devil
must iMve a long spoon"

I N SPITE of its imposing title, the Lo-
canda del Leone d'Oro was but a
mean, single-storied wine-shop half
hidden away in one of the reeking alleys
within a stone’s dirow of the Molo of
Naples, and its landlord, through long
years of residence amongst the lawless
lazzaront of that waterside distria, had
developed a wise and prudent indiffer-
ence as to the charaaer and occupation of
the queer customers who patronized his
house. Yet even he could not help cast-
ing more than one curious glance at the
tall, bladc-browed stranger who for the
past two hours had been slowly and
thoughtfully sipping his wine in the dark-
est comer of the dimly illuminated room.

At first sight he had appeared to be
one of the mercenary soldiers who at that
period roamed the country, selling their
services to any leader who was able and
willing to give gold for steel; and this
impression was heightened by die shirt
of pliant chain-mail whidi covered the
upper portion of the stranger’s body, no
less than by the very serviceable rapier
and dagger that hung, within convenient
reach, from his belt.

But the landlord’s sharp eyes noted
that the plume drooping from the wide
brim of his slouched hat was too bril-
liant and many-colored to have been
plucked from any bird native to Italy;
that the roughly dressed leather of the
high boots was still harsh with sea water;
while the crimson hue of the wide, volu-
minous cloak had been bleached to a
dingy brown, on its more exposed parts,
86

by a sunshine ever more vivid than that
which beats on the Tyrrhenian shore.

’The man might be one of those daring
adventurers who had sought to carve
their fortimes with their swords from the
El Dorado of the newly discovered con-
tinents beyond the Western Ocean. He
might be one of the ruffians who provid-
ed the fighting material of the slave-
driven galleys of Genoa, then recently
enlisted under the white and gold banner
of His Most Catholic Majesty of Spain.
He might be one of the officers of the
swift, heavily-armed corvettes, flying any
flag, or no flag at all, which lay in wait
for the lumbering, deep-laden treasure-
galleons bringing the spoils of the New
World to fill the depleted coffers of the
Old. He might be— —

’The landlord’s sidelong glance en-
countered the gaze of two frowning eyes
which glowed in the shadow of the
stranger’s low-drawn hat-brim, and some-
thing in the intensity of their fixed re-
gard caused a shiver of superstitious fear
to run down the beholder’s spine. Under
cover of the counter, the landlord closed
the two middle fingers of his right hand,
extending the remaining ones in the di-
reaion of the stranger and at the same
time muttering a charm beneath his
breath. Dread of the Evil Eye was very
real and potent in those latter years of the
Fifteenth Century.

A few seconds later the first strokes of
midnight began to boom from the cam-
panile of the Convent dell’ Anmmziata.
and with a promptitude vffiich suggested

THE AVENGING SHADOW

that he had been awaiting the signal, the
stranger drained his glass, and rose brisk-
ly to his feet.

"Your reckoning, Messer Host,” he
said in a deep, ringing voice, at the same
time tossing a silver coin on the coimter.

The landlord spat upon the coin and
transferred it to the podcet of his greasy
apron.

"Mille grazie, Eccellenze,” he mut-
tered, bowing his guest to the door with
obvioios relief. "Addio, e buon’ viaggio.
May the Blessed Madonna accompany
you every step of your journey.”

A contemptuous smile twitched the
lips of die stranger as he noted that the
pious wish was accompanied by the sign
to avert the Evil Eye.

"Addio,” he answered curtly, and
passed out into the night.

A few rapid strides along the alley
brought him into the wider Strada di
Chiaja, where, passing beneath the lofty
rock of Pizzofalcone, he began to moimt

the sloping path beyond. As he made
his way upward, the huddled roofs of
the waterside hovels sank beneath his
range of vision, revealing the magnificent
sweep of the Bay of Naples, its placid
waters spread like a sheet of beaten sil-
ver beneath the moonlit sky. Direaly
before him, the distant Island of Capri
appeared like the head of some fabled
sea-monster rising from the deep; to his
right, its smoke-crowned summit faintly
tinged with red, the purple-gray mass of
Vesuvius loomed in solitary grandeur.

Late though the hour was, a few signs
of life and movement floated up from
the streets below — ^the flash of lanterns
and clink of armor as the watch went its
prescribed rounds; the tinkle of a mando-
lin and the sound of a voice trolling
forth the inevitable "Funiculi-Funiculd’ ;
a burst of coarse revelry from a wine-
shop; the sweet voices of the nuns as they
chanted their midnight orisons in the
chapel of the convent near by.

"Stand ho!” he cried, suddenly lowering the point of,
his weapon.

WEIRD TALES

The latter sound seemed to awaken
some dormant memory, for the man in-
stinctively raised his hand to his forehead
and began to make the sign of the cross
— only to pause abruptly with a snarling
curse as he recolleaed the errand on
which he was bent.

''Diavolo! The whey-faced fook deem .
the world well lost for the sake of an
empty dream!” he muttered as he turned
to resume his way. "But I am wker than
they! Soon the world, with all its pomp,
power and riches, will be at my feet!”

As if the thought had invested him
with renewed energy, he hastened up the
remainder of the slope at a run, and a
few minutes later came to a halt before
a low door that was deeply recessed in a
wall of ancient stone. With a quick
glance round to make sure he was unob-
served, he thrust forward his sheathed
sword and rapped on the panels with its
hilt.

He had expeaed his summons to be
answered by a whispered challenge — the
grating of bolts — the creak of hinges.
Instead, the heavy gate swimg open as
silently as a dissolving shadow. For a
second he hesitated, peering suspiciously
into the darkness within in an endeavor
to discern the agency responsible for this
unspoken invitation to enter. Then he
stepped across the threshold, and the door
closed behind him as mysteriously as it
had opened.

T he house which loomed before him
seemed devoid of life; no sound is-
sued from within; no glint of light,
showed in its many windows. But as he
approached, a slender spear of yellow
light leapt to meet him. It came from a
narrow grated peephole which pierced
another door. Inside, illuminated by the
flickering beams of a taper, a pair of
dark, piercing eyes stared into his from
benea^ their shaggy gray brows.

"What sedc ye, Signorino?*' came in a
hoarse, croaking whisper from the other
side of the door.

"That which is forbidden,” was the
stranger’s cryptic reply.

"Of whom do ye sedc the thing which
k forbidden.?”

"Of him whose name must not be
spoken.”

"And where does he dwell, he whose
name must not be spoken?”

"In air and in earth; in water and in
fire; and in those unknown elements
which boil and seethe de^ beneath the
foundations of the earth.”

Apparently the whole series of ques-
tions and answers formed an elaborate
countersign, for the old man immediately
unlocked the door and motioned die
stranger to enter.

Passing down a dark corridor, he led
the way into a long, narrow, yet strange-
ly lofty apartment. A row of slender
Gothic ardies ran down each side; the
corbels which supported the groined roof
were sculptured in the forms of angels;
the walk were covered with frescoes of a
sacred chatacter. The stranger recoiled
a pace as he saw the nature of his sur-
roundings.

"A (hurch?” The startled exclama-
tion was accompanied by a quick, hissing
intake of hk breath.

"Aye, but an unhallowed one!” his
guide answered with a reassuring laugh.
"Fear not, Signorino, the Black Mass has
been the only ritual chanted within these
walk for many a long year. Time was
when thk was the private oratory of the
noble family to whom this house be-
longed, but now — behold!”

He kindled a large lamp as he spoke,
and by its light the newcomer saw that
the carved stonework was chipped and
cracked; tfiat the golden halos of the pic-
tured saints were tarnished and bladc-
ened; the rich coloring of the figures de-

THE AVENGING SHADOW

faced bjr damp, or quite obliterated in the
places where the plaster had peeled from
the walls. Rough wooden shelves had
been nailed up at a convenient height
from the floor, and on these were ar-
ranged queer-looking instruments, earth-
enware jars, glass flasks and retorts. A
furnace of blackened brickwork stood on
the spot formerly occupied by the altar;
before it stood a large table and an oaken
press which groaned beneath the weight
of the many huge, leather-bound volumes
stacked upon it.

Seating himself in a high diair at the
head of the table, the old man leisurely
settled the folds of his long, fur-trimmed
robe, his eyes fixed upon the other’s face
the while in a prolonged, hawk-like
scrutiny.

"You are welcome, Taso Vitelli," he
said at last. "As one who comes with
the commendation of Ramon Ezaquiel, of
Malaga ”

"Per Bacco!” 'The younger man’s
eyes were filled with an expression deep-
er than mere astonishment as he rapped
out the words. "How know ye my
name? — and that of the man who sent
me hither? Malaga is in Spain — three
hundred leagues, or more, from here. I
came direa, yet it would seem as if the
news of my coming has outrun me.’’

A slow and scornful smile showed
faintly beneath the old man’s beard.

"Think ye that I am but a bungling
tyro in the art of necromancy that my
only means of gaining knowledge is by
written word, or messenger of flesh and
blood? Know ye not that I have power
to summon at my will aerial couriers
more swift than the lightning flash? But
marvel not at such a simple thing — ere
long thou shalt know that such are but
trifles li^t as wind-blown down, com-
pared with the weighty, world-swaying
powers vouchsafed to the masters of our
craft. Let it suffice thee, for the present.

to know that such knowledge as ye seek
may be thine — at a price!"

An ominous gleam shot from the nar-
rowed eyes of the master magician as he
uttered the final words, but Vitelli ap-
peared not to notice it as he eagerly
thrust his hand into the bosom of his
doublet and drew forth a leathern bag.

'"rhe price is here, Messer Malecal-
chas!’’ he cried, opening the bag and
pouring a stream of gold pieces on the
table. "Will this suffice thee?’’

Without answer, the other drew the
glittering heap toward him, shuffling the
coins with greedy fingers, occasionally
taking one up and holding it nearer the
lamp the better to observe it. Although
all were of gold, the coins varied greatly,
not only in size and weight, but also in
the devices they bore. There were Dutch
guilders, French louis d’or, English no-
bles, Spanish doubloons — even a few
Tuildsh sequins and a battered disk bear-
ing the half-obliterated chariot of ancient
Syracuse.

"Methinks thy gold comes from many
different countries, and they are all coun-
tries that send deep-laden ships from
their ports,’’ Malecalchas observ^ softly.
"A man need not dabble in the Black Ait
to divine that 'twas on the sea that thy
gold was won.’’

Vitelli’s face darkened and he made
an impatient movement.

"No matter where ’t was won. Is it
enough?’’

'The old man nodded his head slowly,
swept the coins into the bag, tied die
mouth securely and locked it away in an
iron-bound chest.

"It is enough,’’ he said, returning to
his chair. "In return for it I agree to
make thee proficient in the mystic arts.
But" — he paused and stroked his long
beard — "I have a — er — a kind of parmer
in my college, and he, too, must have his
fee."

. WEIRD TALES

Taso Vitelli shrugged and turned
away. "I have no more money.”

Malecalchas held up a protesting hand.

"Nor is more needed. The fee de-
manded by my — er — fellow-instruaor —
is one that can not be paid in coin.”

"How then?”

"Swear that thou wilt not divulge to a
living soul what I am about to tell thee.

Swear it by ” And he propounded

an oath which caused cold beads of sweat
to start from his hearer’s forehead.

Among Taso Vitelli’s late sea-roving
companions he had been aedited with
fearing neither man nor devil; but now
his voice was husky and shaking as he re-
peated the words of that soul-chilling
compaa.

"It is well,” said Malecalchas at the
conclusion. "Know then, that on the eve
of the Feast of Saint Walpurgis, that is
to say, the night between Ae last day of
April and the first of May, all my stu-
dents assemble in the courtyard of this
house. There they compete in a race,
starting at a given signal and running
completely round the house, the goal be-
ing a narrow postern door leading to the
vaults beneath this chapel. And then
the old proverb becomes literally true, for
'the Devil takes the hindmost’ in very
sooth!”

The prospeaive student leapt up from
his chair.

"You — mean ?” he faltered.

'"That the body and soul of the last
man to enter the door becomes forfeit to
the Lord of Hell!”

y iTELLi Stood aghast as the dreadful
nature of the bargain rushed upon
his mind. Every instina of his being
shouted its horrified warning to shun
even the remotest chance of paying such
a price. Then his face grew more com-
posed. After all, he was young, mus-
cular, lithe of limb and fleet of foot; in

a fair contest of speed and endurance he
would stand as good a chance as any man
— a better chance than most.

He turned with a sudden question:
"How many of your students will take
part in this race?”

"ODunting yourself, a round score.”

Vitelli’s face brightened. Twenty to
one! — ^he had taken more desperate -
chances than that in his reckless career,
and had come through scatheless.

"I agree!” he aied. "Enroll me on
your list of students now!”

Malecalchas laid a restraining hand on
the other’s arm.

"Softly, softly, young signor. First the
agreement must be ratified in due form
by the personage who is the other party
to the compaa. Follow me.”

He began to lead the way toward a
narrow flight of steps which led down-
ward into inky darkness, but Vitelli hung
back.

"Whither are you taking me?” he de-
manded.

"Into the presence of your future Lord
and Master. Come!”

Half eager, half fearful, Vitelli suf-
fered himself to be led down the winding
stairs. Presently he found himself stand-
ing in what evidently was the ancient
crypt of the chapel. Darkness reigned
on every side.

"Here are flint, steel and tinder,” said
Malecalchas, thrusting the articles into
his hand. "Strike fire.”

"But the taper upstairs is burning,”
objeaed the other. "Will not that ?”

"Question not, but obey!” the old man
interrupted harshly. "’The fire must be
virgin fire, struck by' thine own hand
from the cold elements of nature, other-
wise the spell is of no avail.”

’Thus enjoined, the neophyte in magic
busied himself with the implements, and
after one or two attempts a tiny red line
of fire began to creep among the tinder.

THE AVENGING SHADOW

"Fan it with thy breath; then place it
in this brazier," commanded the older
man.

Vitelli obeyed, and presently a faint
ruddy glow began to pervade the gloom.
Taking a piece of white diaik from the
pocket of his robe, Malecalchas drew a
wide drde on die stone floor, completely
enclosing the brazier and die spot on
which they stood At the four cardinal
points be described weird cabalistic hiero-
glyphics, mutmring die while words
equally unintelligible. Rising to his feet,
he again explored the depths of the ca-
pacious podcets of his robe, drawing
forth four packets, each carefully sealed
and bearing on its paper wrapping a
number written in ink.

"Thy task will be to cast these into the
brazier, one after another, as I shall call
the numbers inscribed on diem. And I
charge thee, as 3WU wish to quit diis vault
in human shape, to use the packets in
their correa o^er. And on no account
allow thy foot to pass beyond the mystic
circle I have drawn — nay, not by so much
as a hair’s breadth! For beyond its pro-
tecting boundary there will soon be rag-
ing forces so strong and potent that even
I have no power to control them. Art
thou prepared?”

Taso Vitelli took a long breath before
he answered

"Aye!"

“Then, my fellqw-traveler into the
realm forbidden to the sons of mortal
men, brace up diy courage and make
strong thy heart. For anon thou shalt
hear the voice that hath echoed through
the Qiurts of Heaven, as well as the
deepest depths of Hell; the voice that
chanted with die angels of li^t before
the fallen Lucifer raised it in mockery
over die torments of die damned. Hast
thou the packets set out in their proper
order?"

"Aye," Vitelli answered, after assuring
himself that it was so.

"Then begin with the packet marked —
oner

V ITELLI cast the folded paper upon
the glowing charcoal in the brazier,
and instandy the flames changed to a pale
greenish glow. At the same moment
Malecalchas drew out a parchment scroll
and began to read from it in a loud,
sonorous voice.

Years of close association with the
scourings of many nations, vho had been
his late shipmates, had given Taso Vitelli
a smattering of many tongues; but Male-
calchas’ incantadon was in a language
quite unknown to him. Yet, in spite of
their hidden meaning, the sustained roll
of the measured periods had a strange
wild music of their own. Suddenly
Malecalchas paused.

‘Tivo!" he commanded sharply, with-
out turning his head.

Vitelli flung in the second packet, and
the dying flames within the brazier leapt
into renewed life; but now they sent forth
a pale blue light vdiich made the face of
ea^ man appear like that of a living
corpse. Once more the deep-toned voice
of the master magician rose in the un-
holy litany; once more it died away into
silence.

•’Threer

A deep orange glow suflfused the vault
as the third package touched the smolder-
ing embers. Vitelli dashed his hand
across his forehead to wipe away the
great drops which had of a sudden be-
dewed it. Was it merely the effea of
the burning drugs, or was some stifling,
heat-laden wind really circling round the
vault? Every breath he drew seemed to
come direa from a fiery furnace. A dull
roaring filled his ears, dirough which the
sound of the incantation came like a voice

WEIRD TALES

heard through the mists of raging de-
lirium.

"Arimanes! . . . Asmodeus! . . . Sam-
mael! . . . Sathanus!”

The sorcerer raised his hands above his
head as he uttered each dread name, and
to Vitelli's reeling senses it seemed as
though the flames in the bra2ier rose and
fell in unison, as if fanned by a sudden
breath. Beyond the charmed circle in
which they stood, the air seemed full of
beating wings. Confused sounds — sobs,
wails, curses in a thousand different
tongues mingled with shouts of demo-
niacal laughter — assailed his ears. A
sultry wind began to stir the hair upon
his head, its fiery breath searing deep into
the brain beneath.

He fell upon his hands and knees,
trembling in every limb, appalled at the
coming of the fiend he had invoked. But
the voice of Malecalchas, shrill as the
scream of some unhallowed night-bird,
recalled him to his duties.

"Four!"

Taso Vitelli’s groping fingers found
and closed upon the last padcage. Al-
most blindly he cast it into the flames,
and saw them change to a dull blood-red;
whilst from them issued dense black
fumes that in an instant hid everything
save that leering red eye. A low rumble
of thunder followed, sounding faintly in
the distance at first, but rapidly growing
louder and nearer, until it burst in deaf-
ening aashes and peals about his ears.

Then, out of the sable cloud beyond
the circle, a hand emerged and reached
toward him.

But was it a hand? Vitelli shrank
back as he fixed his staring eyeballs on
the apparition. Long, slender but mus-
cular; in color as black as soot save only
the curved, blood-red claws with which
each finger was armed — it was the hand

of the Arch-fiend himself, extended to
him to seal his terrible bargain!

Vitelli threw himself prone on the
ground and hid his face in his hands. He
felt his right hand seized in a vise-like
grip — a pain like a red-hot iron pressed
to his palm.

'Then the din around him ceased
abruptly, and when he took courage to
open his eyes, it was to see Malecalchas
calmly rolling up his scroll while he
rubbed out the magic circle with the sole
of his shoe. It seemed as if no sign of
his diabolical assignation remained except
the slender spiral of vapor which still
trailed upward from the dying embers in
the brazier.

It was not until Taso Vitelli reached
the lighted room overhead that he saw
on his palm the ineffaceable brand that
was the seal of his paa with the Enemy
of Mankind.

O NE evening, some ten months later,
when the afterglow of the early
spring sunset was still lingering in the
western sky, a band of students trooped
noisily into the Locanda del Leone d’Oro.
At their head was the tall figure of Taso
Vitelli, and this time the landlord did not
eye him askance.

"Bring wine for these my friends —
wine in plenty and of the b«t!’’ he or-
dered with a lordly air. "None of your
wretched Chianti for us ! — Vino d’Asti or
Lacryma Cristi — no baser vintage will
serve to gladden this night of nights!”
"Anon, anon, Eccellenze!"

Mine host disappeared into his cellar
with the rapidity of a rabbit diving into
its burrow, and returned almost as quick-
ly laden with huge, dusty flagons. Glasses
were filled, emptied, and filled again, and
as the contents of the flagons fell lower,
the noise of revelry rose higher, culmi-
nating in a diorus bawled so lustily as to

THE AVENGING SHADOW

threaten to bring the crazy rafters tum-
bling about their heads:

"Amici, alliegre magnammo e bevimmo
Fin che «' ci state uoglio e la lucerna!

Chi sa s’ a I’autro munno «' ci vedimmo?

Chi sa s’a I’autro munno ride tavema?"

It was but the common Neapolitan
drinking-song, in which the tippler bids
his friends eat and drink joyously as long
as there is "oil in the lamp”; for who
knows if we shall meet again in the next
world, or that we shall find a tavern
there?

But, in spite of the noisy mirth and
wine-whipped excitement, there lay heavy
on each heart a haunting dread which the
fate-defying words of the song only
seemed to accentuate. For it was St.
Walpurgis’ Eve, and ere many hours the
race would be run which would decide
which of them was to pay the Devil’s
debt.

Vitelli’s laugh was loudest of any —
but it did not extend farther than his lips.
His eyes were very watchful as he swept
his gaze round the circle of flushed faces,
wondering which of them was destined
to provide the Devil with his due. Would
it be Haller, the heavily built, fleshy Teu-
ton, whose natural scantiness of breath
would not be improved by his present
potations? Or Rodrigo, the Sicilian? Or
Matteo, the gipsy, who had robbed a
church to pay his entrance fee? Or
Corenzio, who had sprained his knee a
few days before?

His gaze remained fixed upon the
rather handsome face of the last-named
student. Yes, of a surety, Corenzio
would be the last man to pass through
the fatal door — ^what chance would a
half-lame man stand in a race for such a
desperate stake? A feeling of deep sat-
isfaaion came over Vitelli at the thought,
for the removal of the handsome Coren-
zio would rid him of his only rival for
the favors of the dark eyed Neinissa, the

daughter — ^and heiress — of the richest
banker in Naples. That he himself
might prove to be the imlucky loser never
for an instant crossed Vitelli’s mind.

At eleven o’clock Taso rose to his feet.
He had been careful to drink much less
than his companions, preferring to keep a
clear head and steady feet for the coming
race; but he simulated the thickness of
speech of a man far gone in liquor as he
cried:

"Fill your glasses, comrades! 'There is
time for one last toast before we go to
keep our — little appointment.”

Corenzio started to his feet with a
drunken laugh.

"Let me fill the glasses, Taso — ^maybe
’tis the last service I’ll be able to render
to this company.”

Seaetly elated at the confirmation of
his estimation of Corenzio’s slender
chance in the coming contest, Vitelli
nodded indifferently. When each glass
was full to the brim, he rose in his turn.

"Let each drink to his own success,”
he cried as he held the ruby goblet aloft.
"And a pleasant damnation to the loser!”

A few minutes later the party were
making their way back to the house on
the hill, the merriest among them Taso
Vitelli. But his laugh would have been
less loud and his step less jaunty had he
known of the tiny pellet which Corenzio
had stealthily dropped into his wine as
he had charged his glass for the final
toast.

T hat night the coldly glittering stars
looked down on a strange scene be-
ing enaaed in the courtyard of Malecal-
chas’ house. A score of men, stripped to
shirt and trunk-hose, stood lined up with
their backs against one of the encircling
walls, their straining eyes fixed on the
lantern held by the aged necromancer.

"The course of the race will be once
round the house and through the narrow

WEIRD TALES

door leading to the trypt Malecaldias
was explaining. "I will give die signal
to start fay falowing out the candle of this
lantern. Then you will run in die dark-
ness to the winning — or perhaps I should
say the hsmg — post, for it will be from
die last man that die penalty idll fae exaa-
ed. The patron of die race being who he
is, any tridt, any subterfuge, any artifice
will be permissible; for the fad)^ of all
knavery will not forbid his followers to
practise his precepts in this momentous
contest. It is each man for himself — ^and
die Devil take die hindmost! Are you
ready?"

A hoarse chorus of affirmation rose
from the tense rank.

'Then watch die candle!"

Twenty pairs of straining eyes were
fixed on him as he unfastened die door
of the lantern, raising it until die flame
of the taper within was but a few inches
from his lips. For a ftdl minute he
stood motionless, his satyr-like features
illuminated by the yellow glow. Each
man crouched down for the first forward
spring as they saw his lips purse up.
Abruptly the fight disappeared, and the
next moment the darkened courtyard re-
soimded with the noise of madly racing
men.

Taso Vitelli, sure of his victory, ran
easily at first. He had intentiondly
taken up his place next to Corenzio, so
that he might enjoy to die full the despair
of his rival. When the line of men
dashed forward, Vitelli allowed the limp-
ing man to pass him, then fell in behind
him, confident of being able to outstrip
him any moment he chose. But it was
not from choice that Corenzio ran so
slowly; the pain in his sprained knee was
getting worse. Unless the drug worked
quidcly, nothing could save him from be-
ing die last to pass the fatal threshold.

By this time ih^ had rounded two of
the comets of the house, and half the dis-

tance had been coveted. Vitelli put on a
little spurt of speed which brought him
side by side with his rival; so little had
the pace distressed him that he had breath
to wa^e in a mt)cking lau^.

"How now, friend Corenzio, what ails
thee?" he jeered. ‘'Thou art running
Iflce a bttflcen-winded mule that wears o«
its last days staggering round an oil-mill!
Ywi used not to be so tardy when hasten-
ing to the arms of your beloved Nein-
issa!"

A breathless curse broke from the lips
of the other man.

"Wait — ^wak!" he gasped. "I will be
lying in h« arms when thou art howling
in HelU"

Vitelli’s only reply was another laugh.
Running abreast, with no sound save the
quick patter of their feet and their deep
breathing, they rounded the third coiner
of the house. Then Vitelli began stead-
ily to draw ahead. <tece he glanced back
as a fragmentary gleam of moonlight
through the drifting clouds Ik up Coren-
zio’s face, and the look of despair which
he saw there told that die man had al-
most readied the end of his endurance.

"Farewell, Corenzio!" he called bade.
"In very sooth, diy race is nearly run!
Give my respectful salutations to His
Satanic Majesty when ”

His voice broke off in a little wonder-
ing gasp. What was diis deadily leth-
argy that was stealing over him? A mo-
ment since, he had felt fit to run for
miles; now his legs felt 13ce lead, while
a mist seemed to rise and eddy before his
eyes, causing him to stagger like a drunk-
en man. Ctwrenzio saw him falter, and
despair gave place to hope. With a
painful effort, he increased his own speed
until once more they were running level.
Nedc and neck, they rounded the last
comer, Vitelli staggering blindly and only
keeping to the track by occasionally
stretching out his hand to feel the wall.

THE AVENGING SHADOW

G)ren2io saw his plight, and a laugh
diat was little more tlian a hoarse, gasp-
ing croak issued from his lips.

"Ha, Taso! — who is — the — broken-
winded mule — now?”

" Mdedizzione!”

Like lightning Vitelli’s foot shot out,
tripping up the other as he was about to
pass him. Both men fell together in a
confused, struggling heap. Corenzio
threw oflf Vitelli’s weakening grasp and
strove to rise. But the other clung des-
perately to his leg, drew himself up, and,
still struggling, the pair staggered toward
the door which was the goal of the race.

Gasping, cursing, locked in an embrace
which each feared to break lest the other
should forestall him, they fought tlieir
way onward. The brilliant light from
the open door lit up their swaying figures,
throwing grotesquely elongated black
shadows behind them. Together they
reached the door, each striving to enter
before the other. The violence of their
struggles increased — they knew they
fought for something even more precious
than life itself.

For a time they remained wedged in
the doorway, unable either to advance or
retreat. Then with a mighty effort
Corenzio dashed the other man’s head
backward against the stone. With his
last remnants of strength he thrust the
stunned and helpless form of his rival
back, then pitched forward and literally
fell through the doorway. To his swim-
ming senses the harsh voice of Malecal-
chas sounded like the sweetest music as
he declared:

"The last in the race is Taso Vitelli —
and he must pay the price!”

T he following evening — that of the
Feast of St. Walpurgis — a solitary
wayfarer was making his way along the
coast-road which skirts the southeastern
shore of the Bay of Naples. Reaching

the little village of Resina, he turned
abruptly to his right and began slowly
and painfully to mount the road which
wound upward amongst the mounds and
hillocks of gray lava. It was Taso Vi-
telli, on his way to keep his last tryst.

Many were the curioas glances cast at
his cloaked figure as he passed through
the single street of the village, and one or
two of the homeward-bound peasants
wished him the customary "buono viag-
gio.” But of these he took no heed. He
looked neither to the right nor the left,
walking for the most part with his eyes
bent on the ground; only at rare inter-
vals did he raise them, and then it was to
gaze long and fixedly at the distant mass
of Vesuvius which loomed ahead.

From a wretched, tumbledown albergo
at the end of the village there issued, as
if in bitter mockery, the chorus of the
same drinking-song that he had shouted
so defiantly but twenty-four hours before:

"Chi sa s’a I’autro munno n’ ci vedimmo?

Chi sa s’a I’autro munno n’ o’ e taverna?”

With a shiver he realized the truth
which lay beneath the epicurean senti-
ment, and he paused, half minded to join
the merry company within. But a will
other than his own seemed to control his
movements. Mechanically he turned his
back on the friendly twinkle of the lights
and fixed his eyes on the flame-tinted
cloud of smoke which crowned the cone
of Vesuvius.

Gradually the path grew steeper and
more difficult. The firm road gave place
to a mere track over masses of loose ashes
and blocks of lava which had once poured
in a fiery torrent from the crater above.
The air began to be tainted with the
acrid fumes of sulfur. Thin streams of
murky vapor began to sprout from the fis-
sures in the crust of cooled lava on which
he trod. The very fabric of the moun-
tain trendbled like a giant in the throes of

WEIRD TALES

mortal agony. The heat became greater
widi every step he took.

But still he struggled upward, now
making a detour to avoid some belching
pit, now sinking knee-deep in fine black
ashes. Panting, sweating in every pore,
he gained the summit and threw himself
flat on the ground to regain his breath.

When he raised his head and looked
about him, he saw that he was standing
on the brink of a vast pit, the further-
most lip of which was hidden by the
rolling clouds of smoke which poured
from it. Far below, a lake of white-hot
lava heaved and eddied — a restless sea
whose billows were tongues of fire, and
its spray the deadly fumes of blazing sul-
fur. Unearthly bellowings, nerve-rack-
ing crashes, assailed his ears at intervals,
and mingling with them was a bubbling
roar like the boiling of a gigantic caul-
dron.

As he stood, faint and trembling, he
became aware of a darker patch amid the
whirling smoke. Slowly it took shape
before his eyes, advancing toward him
the while and forcing him to cringe bade
step by step to the verge of the fiery pit.

“Hold!" he screamed with a courage
bom of despair. "The race was not run
fairly — I was beaten by a trick. Corenzio
drugged my wine — otherwise he himself
would have been the last to pass through
the door.”

A sound of mocking laughter issued
from the cloud.

"Were you not warned beforehand
that you must meet guile with guile?”
said a hollow voice. "What? would you
have me — the father of all knavery — dis-
countenance the very tenets I advocate?
Then indeed should I be a house divided
against myself!”

Vitelli found himself forced back an-
other step. Frenziedly he raised his voice
above the roaring of the flames.

"Then, as you love trickery so much,
you can not hold me to my bond!" he
cried recklessly.

The advancing cloud paused.

"What mean ye?” asked the voice.

"All that the compaa gives you is the
last thing that passed through the door.”

"And thy body, Taso Vitelli, was that
last thing,” said the voice. “And that I
am about to claim for my own!”

"Nay!” Vitelli returned with a tri-
umphant laugh. "After my body came
my shadow! My shadow is the only tiling
to which you can lay claim — and that you
are welcome to. Take it — and let me go!”

A mighty burst of laughter mingled
with the subterranean thunders of the
volcano. It seemed as though the Devil
were not ill pleased with the artful quib-
ble by which his disciple sought to evade
his debt.

"So be it,” he announced at length.
"We will keep to the stria letter of the
bond. From now onward thy shadow be-
longs to me. But” — the voice dropped
to a menacing hiss as it continued — "full
well thou knowest that till now no trick-
ster has outwitted the Arch-trickster of
all — ^myself! Thou shalt go forth into
the world — a man without a shadow. But
for thine own safety take heed that you
confine your steps to the shady side of
the street; or, bmer still, stir not out of
doors until the sun hath set. For the Holy
Inquisition is well served by its spies in
Naples, and already they have cast a sus-
picious eye in your direaion. All that,
however, must be your affair. For my
part thou art free!”

The cloud rolled back and Taso Vi-
telli staggered away from the crater.

"I thank thee, Sathanus!” he cried.
"Farewell!”

" Arrivederci!" came die answer, with
grim significance.

W. T.— 6

THE AVENGING SHADOW

J ov lent wings to Vitelli's feet as he
hurried from the accursed spot. He
laughed aloud and sang in his delirious
excitement. Had he not gained a new
lease of life? Had he not outwitted the
Atch-fiend himself?

The sight of the first houses of Resina
caused him to moderate his transports,
however, and silently as a ghost he stole
through the deserted street. The moon
peered out through a rift in the veil of
clouds as he neared the gates of Naples,
but when he glanced behind him, he saw
that no familiar blade outline showed on
the white dust of the road. His shadow
was already in the Devil’s keeping!

"What of it?” he laughed aloud as he
snapped his fingers in the air. "What is
a shadow? Nothing — less than nothing!
Corpo di Bacco! I wish the fiend joy of
his bargain!”

Nevertheless, he waited until the moon
was hidden before accosting the halber-
dier who guarded the dty gate.

"Buona sera, amico,” he said, slipping
a coin into the fellow’s palm. "Surely
you will not refuse entry to a man who
has tarried over-long with one of the fair
damsels of Resina?”

The sentinel started at the sound of his
voice.

"Stand ho!” he cried, suddenly lower-
ing the point of his weapon until it was
level with the other’s breast. Then he

raised his voice still louder. "Guard ho!
Guard! Here is the very man we have
been searching for!”

There was a rush of many feet and
clashing of hastily caught-up weapons.
Armed men emerged from the guard
chamber, and an instant later Vitelli
found himself surrounded by a ring of
steel. Amazement at this unexpeaed re-
ception gave place to dread as the officer
of the watch stepped forward and
touched him on the shoulder with his
staff of office.

"Taso Vitelli, I arrest thee for break-
ing into the house of Gian Becchino, the
banker, and murdering him!”

Vitelli staggered back with sagging
jaw and staring eyes.

"I?” he gasped. "I murder Becchino?
Art thou drunk, or moon-struck? Why,
I have not set foot within the city walls
since nightfall?”

'The officer shrugged contemptuously.

"You had better invent a more plausi-
ble tale than that, when you appear before
the judge!” he said grimly. "Know,
then, that Neinissa was returning to the
house when she heard her father’s cries
for help. Finding the front door locked,
she roused the neighborhood and a crowd
gathered. A hundred people are prepared
to swear that diey saw your shadow on
the window blind at the very moment
Becchino’s death shriek rang out!”

W. T.— 7

Passing of a God

By HENRY S. WHITEHEAD

'An uncanny story of surgery and the dark rites, of the Black people, ht the land

of Haiti

‘‘"W say that when Carswell came

j into your hospital over in Port au
Prince his fingers looked as
though they had been woimd with
string,” said I, encouragingly.

"It is a very ugly story, that, Canevin,”
replied Doaor Pelletier, still reluaant, it
appeared.

"You promised to tell me,” I threw in.

"I know it, Canevin,” admined Doaor
Pelletier of The U. S. Navy Medical
Corps, now stationed here in the Virgin
Islands. "But,” he proceeded, "you
couldn’t use this story, anyhow. There
are editorial tabus, aren’t there? The
thing is too — ^what shall I say? — too out-
rageous, too incredible.”

"Yes,” I admitted in turn, "there are
tabus, plenty of them. Still, after hearing
about those fingers, as though wound
with string — why not give me the story,
Pellaier; leave it to me whether or not I
'use' it. It’s the story I want, mostly. I’m
burning up for it!”

"I suppose it’s your lookout,” said my
guest. "If you find it too gruesome for
you, tell me and I’ll quit.”

I plucked up hope once more. I had
been trying for this story, after getting
little saaps of it which allured and in-
trigued me, for weeks.

"Start in,” I ventured, soothingly,
pushing the silver swizzel-jug after the
humidor of cigarettes from which Pel-
letier was even now making a seleaion.
Pelletier helped himself to the swizzel
frowningly. Evidently he was tom
between the desire to pour out the story
of Arthur Carswell and some complica-

tion of feelings against doing so. I sat
back in my wicker lounge-chair and
waited.

Pelletier moved his large bulk about in
his chair. Plainly now he was cogitating
how to open the tale. He began, medi-
tatively:

"I don’t know as I ever heard public
discussion of the malignant bodily
growths except among medical people.
Science knows little about them. The faa
of such diseases, though, is well known
to everybody, through campaigns of pre-
vention, the life insurance companies, ap-
peals for funds

"Well, Carswell’s case, primarily, is
one of those cases.”

He paused and gazed into the glowing
end of his cigarette.

" 'Primarily?’ ” I threw in encour-
agingly.

"Yes. Speaking as a surgeon, that’s
where this thing begins, I suppose,”

I kept still, waiting.

"Have you read Seabrook’s book. The
Magic Island, Canevin?” asked Pelletier
suddenly.

"Yes,” I answered. ”What about it?”

"'Then I suppose that from your own
experience knocking around the West
Indies and your smdy of it all, a good bit
of that stufiF of Seabrook’s is familiar to
you, isn’t it? — the vodu, and the hill cus-
toms, and all the rest of it, especially over
in Haiti — ^you could check up on a writer
like Seabrook, couldn’t you, more or
less?”

"Yes,” said I, "praaically all of it was
an old story to me — a very fine piece of
work, however, the thing clicks all the

PASSING OF A GOD

"They k*eU down all around him on the floor of
hit living-room."

way through — an honest and thorough
piece of investigation.”

"Anything in it new to you?”

"Yes — Seabrook’s statement that there
was an exchange of personalities between
the sacrificial goat — at the 'baptism’ — and
the young Blade girl, the chapter he calls:
Girl-Cry— Goai-Cry. That, at least, was
a new one on me, I admit.”

"You will recall, if you read it care-
fully, that he attributed that phenomenon
to his own personal ’slant’ on the thing.
Isn't that the case, Canevin?”

"Yes,” I agreed, "I think that is the
way he put it.”

"Then,” resumed Doaor Pelletier, "I
take it that all that material of his — I
notice that there have been a lot of story-
writers using his terms lately! — is suJffi-
dently familiar to you so that you have
some clear idea of the Haitian-African
demigods, like Ogoun Badagris, Dam-
balla, and the others, taking up their resi-

dence for a short time in some devotee?”

"The idea is very well understood,”
said I. "Mr. Seabrook mentions it among
a number of other local phenomena. It
was an old negro who came up to him
while he was eating, thrust his soiled
hands into the dishes of food, surprized
him considerably — then was surrounded
by worshippers who took him to the near-
est houmfort or vodu-hov&e, let him sit on
the altar, brought him food, hung all
their jewelry on him, worshipped him for
the time being; then, charaaeristically,
quite utterly ignored the original old fel-
low after the ’possession’ on the part of
the ’deity’ ceased and reduced him to an
unimportant old pantaloon as he was
before.”

’"That summarizes it exaaly,” agreed.
Doaor Pelletier. "'That, Canevin, that
kind of thing, I mean, is the real starting-
place of this dreadful matter of Arthur
Carswell.”

"You mean ?” I barged out at

100

WEIRD TALES

Pelletier, vastly intrigued. I had had no
idea that there was vodu mixed in with
the case.

"I mean that Arthur Carswell’s first
intimation that there was anything press-
ingly wrong with him was just such a
'possession’ as the one you have re-
counted.”

“But — but,” I protested, "I had sup-
posed — I had every reason to believe,
that it was a surgical matter! Why, you
just objeaed to telling about it on the
ground that ”

“Precisely,” said Doaor Pelletier,
calmly. “It was such a surgical case, but,
as I say, it began in much the same way
as the 'occupation’ of that old- negro’s
body by Ogoun Badagris or whichever
one of their devilish deities that hap-
pened to be, just as, you say, is well
known to fellows like yourself who go in
for such things, and just as Seabrook re-
corded it.”

“Well,” said I, “you go ahead in your
own way, Pelletier. I’ll do my best to
listen. Do you mind an occasional ques-
tion?”

“Not in the least,” said Doaor Pel-
laier considerately, shifted himself to a
still more pronouncedly recumbent posi-
tion in my Chinese rattan lounge-chair, lit
a fresh cigarette, and proceeded:

ARSWELL had worked up a consid-
Vw-4 erable intimacy with the snake-
worship of interior Haiti, all the sort of
thing familiar to you; the sort of thing
SCT out, probably for the first time in
English at least, in Seabrook’s book; all
the gatherings, and the 'baptism,’ and the
saaifices of the fowls and the bull, and
the goats; the orgies of the worshippers,
the boom and thrill of the rata drums — •
all that strange, incomprehensible, rather
silly-surfaced, deadly-undemeathed wor-
shio of 'the Snake’ which the Dahomey-

ans brought with them to old Hispaniola,
now Haiti and the Dominican Republic.

“He had been there, as you may have
heard, for a number of years; went there
in the first place because everybody
thought he was a kind of failure at home;
made a good living, too, in a way nobody
but an original-minded fellow like him
would have thought of — shot ducks on
the La)gane marshes, dried them, and
exported them to New York and San
Francisco to the United States’ two largest
Chinatowns!

“For a 'failure,’ too, Carswell was a
particularly smart-looking chap, smart, I
mean, in the English sense of that word.
He was one of those fellows who was
always shaved, clean, freshly groomed,
even under the rather adverse conditions
of his living, there in La)gane by the salt
marshes; and of his trade, whidi was to
kill and dry ducks. A fellow can get
pretty careless and let himself go at that
sort of thing, away from 'home’; away,
too, from such niceties as there are in a
place like Port au Prince.

“He looked, in faa, like a fellow just
o£F somebody’s yacht the first time I saw
him, there in the hospital in Port au
Prince, and that, too, was right after a
rather singular experience which would
have unnerved or unsettled pretty nearly
anybody.

“But not so old Carswell. No, indeed.
I speak of him as 'Old Carswell,’ Canev-
in. 'That, though, is a kind of affeaion-
ate term. He was somewhere about forty-
five then; it was two years ago, you see,
and, in addition to his being very spick
and span, well groomed, you know, be
looked surprizingly young, somehow.
One of those faces which showed experi-
ence, but, along with the experience, a
philosophy. ’The lines in his face were
good lines, if you get what I mean — alines
of humor and courage; no dissipation, no

PASSING OF A GOD

101

l«-down kind of lines, nothing of slack-
ness such as you would see in the face of
even a comparatively yoimg beach-comb-
er. No, as he strode into my ofl&ce, almost
jauntily, there in the hospital, there was
nothing, nothing whatever, about him, to
suggest anything else but a prosperous
fellow American, a professional chap, for
choice, who might, as I say, have just
come ashore from somebody’s yacht.

"And yet — good God, Canevin, the
story that came out !”

Naval surgeon though he was, with
service in Haiti, at sea, in Nicaragua, and
the Qiina Station to his aedit, Doaor
Pelletier rose at this point, and, almost
agitatedly, walked up and down my gal-
lery. Then he sat down and lit a fresh
cigarette.

"There is,” he said, refleaively, and as
though weighing his words carefully,
"there is, Canevin, among various others,
a somewhat ’wild’ theory that somebody
put forward several years ago, about the
origin of malignant tumors. It never
gained very much approval among the
medical profession, but it has, at least,
the merit of originality, and — it was new.
Because of those facts, it had a certain
amount of currency, and there are those,
in and out of medicine, who still believe
in it. It is that there are certain nuclei,
certain masses, so to speak, of the bodily
material which have persisted — not gen-
erally, you understand, but in certain
cases — among certain persons, the kind
who are ’susceptible’ to this horrible dis-
ease, which, in the pre-natal state, did not
develop fully or normally — little places
in the bodily structure, that is — if I make
myself cleari* — ^which remain unde-
veloped.

"Something, according to this hypothe-
sis, something like a sudden jar, or a
bruise, a kick, a blow with the fist, the
result of a fall, or whamot, causes trau-

matism — ^physical injury, that is, you
know — to one of the focus-places, and
the undeveloped little mass of material
starts in to grow, and so displaces the
normal tissue which surrounds it.

"One objection to the theory is that
there are at least two varieties, well-
known and recognized scientifically; the
carcinoma, which is itself subdivided into
two kinds, the hard and the soft carci-
nomae, and the sarcoma, which is a soft
thing, like what is popularly understood
by a 'tumor.' Of course they are all
'mmors,' particular kinds of tumors, ma-
lignant tiunors. What lends a certain
credibility to the theory I have just men-
tioned is the malignancy, the growing el-
ement. For, whatever the underlying rea-
son, they grow, Canevin, as is well recog-
nized, and this explanation I have been
talking about gives a reason for the
growth. The 'malignancy' is, really, that
one of the things seems to have, as it
were, its own life. All this, probably, you
know?”

I nodded. I did not wish to interrupt.
I could see that this side-issue on a
scientific by-path must have something to
do with the story of Carswell.

"Now,” resumed Pelletier, "notice this
fact, Canevin. Let me put it in the form
of a question, like this: To what kind, or
type, of vodu worshipper, does the 'pos-
session' by one of their deities occur —
from your own knowledge of such things,
what would you say?”

"To the incomplete; the abnormal, to
an old man, or woman,” said I, slowly,
refleaing, "or — to a child, or, perhaps, to
an idiot. Idiots, ancient crones, backward
children, 'town-fools’ and the like, all
over Europe, are supposed to be in some
mysterious way en rapport with deity — or
with Satan! It is an established peasant
belief. Even among the Mahometans, the
moron or idiot is 'the afHiaed of God.’

102

WEIRD TALES

There is no other better established belief
along such lines of thought.”

"Precisely!” exclaimed Pelletier, "and,
Canevin, go bade once more to Seabrook’s
instance that we spoke about. What type
of person was 'possessed’?”

"An old doddering man,” said I, "one
well gone in his dotage apparently.”

"Right once more! Note now, two
things. First, I will admit to you, Canev-
in, that that theory I have just been ex-
pounding never made much of a hit
with me. It might be true, but — ^very few
first-rate men in our profession thought
much of it, and I followed that negative
lead and didn’t think much of it, or, in-
deed, much about it. I put it down to
the vaporings of the theorist who first
thought it out and published it, and let it
go at that. Now, Canevin, I am con-
vinced that it is true! The second thing,
then: When Carswell came into my office
in the hospital over there in Port au
Prince, the first thing I noticed about him
— I had never seen him before, you see —
was a peculiar, almost an indescribable,
discrepancy. It was between his general
appearance of weather-worn cleanliness,
general fitness, his 'smart’ appearance in
his clothes — all that, which fitted together
about the clean-cut, open charaaer of the
fellow; and what I can only describe as a
pursiness. He seemed in good condition,
I mean to say, and yet — there was some-
thing, somehow, fiabby somewhere in his
makeup. I couldn’t put my finger on it,
but — it was there, a suggestion of some-
thing that detracted from the impression
he gave as being an upstanding fellow, a
good-fellow-to-have-beside-you-in-a-pinch
— that kind of person.

“>T<he second thing I noticed, it was

J- just after he had taken a chair
beside my desk, was his fingers, and
thumbs. 'They were swollen, Canevin,

looked sore, as though they had been
wound with string. That was the fiirst
thing I thought of, being wound with
string. He saw me looking at them, held
them out to me abruptly, laid them side
by side, his hands I mean, on my desk,
and smiled at me.

" 'I see you have noticed them. Doc-
tor,’ he remarked, almost jovially. "That
makes it a little easier for me to tell you
what I’m here for. It’s — well, you might
put it down as a "symptom”.’

"I looked at his fingers and thumbs;
every one of them was affeaed in the
same way; and ended up with putting a
magnifying glass over them.

"They were all bruised and reddened,
and here and there on several of them,
the skin was abraded, broken, circularly
— it was a most ciuious-looking set of
digits. My new patient was addressing
me again:

" Tm not here to ask you riddles,
Doaor,’ he said, gravely, this time, 'but
— ^would you care to make a guess at
what did that to those fingers and thumbs
of mine?’

" 'Well,' I came bade at him, 'without
knowing what’s happened, it looks as if
you’d been trying to wear about a hun-
dred rings, all at one time, and most of
them didn’t fit!’

"Carswell nodded his head at me.
'Score one for the medico,’ said he, and
laughed. 'Even numerically you’re almost
on the dot, sir. 'The precise number was
one hundred and six!’

"I confess, I stared at him then. But
he wasn’t fooling. It was a cold, sober,
serious faa that he was stating; only, he
saw that it had a humorous side, and
that intrigued him, as anything humorous
always did, I found out after I got to
know Carswell a lot better than I did
then.”

PASSING OF A GOD

103

"You said you wouldn’t mind a few
questions, Pelletier,” I interjeaed.

"Fire away,” said Pelletier. "Do you
see any light, so far.^”

"I was naturally figuring along with
you, as you told about it all,” said I. "Do
1 infer correaly that Carswell, having
lived there — how long, four or five years
or so? ”

"Seven, to be exaa,” put in Pelletier.

" that Carswell, being pretty famil-

iar with the native doings, had mixed into
things, got the confidence of his Black
neighbors in and around Leogane, become
somewhat ’adept’, had the run of the
houmforts, so to speak — 'votre bougie,
M’sieu ’ — the fortune-telling at the festi-
vals, and so forth, and — had been 'vis-
ited’ by one of the Black deities? 'That,
apparently, if I’m any judge of tenden-
cies, is what your account seems to be
leading up to. Those bruised fingers —
the one hundred and six rings — ^good
heavens, man, is it really possible?”

"Carswell told me all about that end
of it, a little later — ^yes, that was, pre-
cisely, what happened, but — that, sur-
prizing, incredible as it seems, is only the
small end of it all. You just wait ”

"Go ahead,” said I, "I am all ears, I
assure you!”

"Well, Carswell took his hands ofif the
desk after I had looked at them through
my magnifying glass, and then waved
one of them at me in a kind of depre-
cating gesture.

" 'I’ll go into all that, if you’re inter-
ested to hear about it, Doaor,’ he as-
sured me, 'but that isn’t what I’m here
about.’ His face grew suddenly very
grave. "Have you plenty of time?’ he
asked. 'I don’t want to let my case inter-
fere with anything.’

" 'Fire ahead,’ says I, and he leaned
forward in his chair.

" 'Doaor,’ says he, 'I don’t know

whether or not you ever heard of me
before. My name’s Carswell, and I live
over L&)gane way. I’m an American, like
yourself, as you can probably see, and,
even after seven years of it, out there,
duck-hunting, mostly, with virtually no
White-man’s doings for a pretty long
time, I haven’t "gone native” or anything
of the sort. I wouldn’t want you to think
I’m one of those wasters.’ He looked up
at me inquiringly for my estimate of him.
He had been by himself a good deal; per-
haps too much. I nodded at him. He
looked me in the eye, squarely, and
nodded back. 'I guess we understand
each other,’ he said. 'Then he went on.

" 'Seven years ago, it was, I came down
here. I’ve lived over there ever since.
What few people know about me regard
me as a kind of failure, I daresay. But —
Doaor, there was a reason for that, a
pretty definite reason. I won’t go into it
beyond your end of it — the medical end,
I mean. I came down because of this.’

"He stood up then, and I saw what
made that 'discrepancy’ I spoke about,
that 'flabbiness’ which went so ill with
the general cut of the man. He turned
up the lower ends of his white drill jacka
and put his hand a little to the left of
the middle of his stomach. 'Just notice
this,’ he said, and stepped toward me.

"There, just over the left center of that
area and extending up toward the spleen,
on the left side, you know, there was a
protuberance. Seen closely it was appar-
ent that here was some sort of internal
growth. It was that which had made him
look flabby, stomachish.

" "This was diagnosed for me in New
York,’ Carswell explained, 'a little more
than seven years ago. They told me it
was inoperable then. After seven years,
probably, I daresay it’s worse, if anything.
To put the thing in a nutshell, Doaor, I
had to "la go” tlien; I got out of a

104

WEIRD TALES

promising business, broke off my engage-
ment, came here. I won't expatiate on it
all, but — it was pretty tough. Doctor,
pretty cough. I’ve lasted all right, so far.
It hasn't troubled me — until just lately.
'That’s why I drove in this afternoon, to
see you, to see if anything could be done.’

" 'Has it been kicking up lately?’ I
asked him.

" 'Yes,' said Carswell, simply. "They
said it would kill me, probably within a
year or so, as it grew. It hasn't grown —
much. I’ve lasted a little more than seven
years, so far.’

" 'Come in to the operating-room,’ I
invited him, 'and take your clothes off,
and let’s get a good look at it.’

" 'Anything you say,’ returned Cars-
well, and followed me bade into the
operating-room then and there.

"I had a good look at Carswell, first,
superfidally. ’That preliminary examina-
rion revealed a growth quite typical, the
self-contained, not the 'fibrous’ type, in
die location I’ve already described, and
about the size of an average man’s head.
It lay imbedded, fairly deep. It was what
we call 'encapsulated.' That, of course, is
what had kept Carswell alive.

"Then we put the X-rays on it, fore-
and-aft, and sidewise. One of those
things doesn’t always respond very well
to skiagraphic examination, to the X-ray,
that is, but riiis one showed clearly
enough. Inside it appeared a kind of
dark, triangular mass, widi the small end
at die top. When Doaor Smithson and
I had looked him over riioroughly, I
asked Carswell whether or not he wanted
to stay with us, to come into die hospital
as a patient, for treatment.

" 'I’m quite in your hands, Doaor,’ he
told me. Til stay, or do whatever you
want me to. But, first,’ and for the first
time he Icxiked a trifle embarrassed, 'I
think I'd better tell you the story that

goes with my coming here! However,
speaking plainly, do you diink I have a
chance?’

" 'Well,' said I, 'speaking plainly, yes,
there is a chance, maybe a "fifty-fifty”
chance, maybe a little less. On die one
hand, this thing has been let alone for
seven years since original diagnosis. It’s
probably less operable than it was when
you were in New York. On the other
hand, we know a lot more, not about
these things, Mr. Carswell, but about
surgical tedmique, than diey did seven
years ago. On the whole. I’d advise you
to stay and get ready for an operation,
and, say about "forty-sixty” you’ll go
bade to La>gane, or back to New York
if you feel like it, several pounds lifter
in weight and a new man. If it takes you,
on the table, well, you’ve had a lot more
time out diere gunning for dudes in
Leogane than those New Yorie fellows
allowed you.’

" 'I’m with you,’ said Carswell, and we
assigned him a room, took his 'history’,
and began to get him ready for his
operation.

“T T T E DID the operation two days

▼ ▼ later, at ten-thirty in the morn-
ing, and in the meantime Carswell told
me his. 'story' about it.

"It seems that he had made quite a
place for himself, there in Lfogane,
among the negroes and the ducks. In
seven years a man like Carswell, with his
mental and dispositional equipment, can
go quite a long way, anywhere. He had
managed to make quite a good thing out
of his duck-drying industry, employed
five or six 'hands’ in his little wooden
'faaory,’ rebuilt a radier good house he
had secured there for a song right after
he had arrived, colleaed local antiques
to add to the equipment he had btoug^t
along with him, made himself a real

PASSING OF A GOD

105

home of a peculiar, bachelor kind, and,
above all, got in solid with the Black
People all around him. Almost inci-
dentally I gathered from him — he had no
gift of narrative, and I had to question
him a great deal — ^he had got onto, and
into, the know in the vodu thing. There
wasn’t, as far as I could get it, any aspea
of it all that he hadn’t been in on, ex-
cept, diat is, chevre sans comes ’ — the
goat without horns, you know — ^the
human sacrifice on great occasions. In
faa, he strenuously denied that die vodu-
ists resorted to that; said it was a canard
against them; that they never, really, did
such things, never had, unless back in
prehistoric times, in Guinea — Africa. .

"But, there wasn’t anything about it
all that he hadn’t at his very finger-ends,
and at first-hand, too. The man was a
walking encyclopedia of die native beliefs,
customs, and practises. He knew, too,
every turn and twist of their speech. He
hadn’t, as he had said at first, 'gone na-
tive’ in the slightest degree, and yet,
without lowering his White Man’s dignity
by a trifle, he had got it all.

'"That brings us to the specific happen-
ing, the 'story’ which, he had said, went
along with his reason for coming in to
the hospital in Port au Prince, to us.

"It appears that his sarcoma had never,
practically, troubled. Beyond noting a
very gradual increase in its size from year
to year, he said, he 'wouldn’t know he
had one.’ In other words, charaaeristical-
ly, it never gave him any pain or direct
annoyance beyond the sense of the
wretched thing being there, and increas-
ing on him, and always drawing him
closer to that end of life which the New
York doaors had warned him about.

"Then, it had happened only three
days before he came to the hospital, he
had gone suddenly unconscious one after-
noon, as he was walking down his shell
jnth to his gateway. The last thing he

remembered then was being 'about four
steps from the gate.’ Wh«i he woke up.
it was dark. He was seated in a big chair
on his own front gallery, and the first
thing he noticed was that his fingers and
thumbs were sore and ached very pain-
fully. The next thing was that there were
flares burning all along the edge of the
gallery, and down in the front yard, and
along die road outside the paling fence
that divided his property from the road,
and in the light of these flares, there
swarmed literally hundreds of negroes,
gathered about him and mostly on their
knees; lined along the gallery and on
the grounds below it; prostrating them-
selves, chanting, putting earth and sand
on their heads; and, when he leaned back
in his chair, something hurt the back of
his neck, and he found that he was being
nearly choked with the necklaces, strings
of beads, gold and silver coin-strings, and
other kinds, that had been draped over
his head. His fingers, and the thumbs as
well, were covered with gold and silver
rings, many of them jammed on so as to
stop the circulation.

"From his knowledge of their beliefs,
he recognized what had happened to him.
He had, he figured, probably fainted,
althou^ sucii a thing was not at all com-
mon with him, going down the pathway
to the yard gate, and the Blades had sup-
posed him to be 'possessed’ as he had sev-
eral times seen Black people, children, old
men and women, morons, chiefly, similar-
ly 'possessed.’ He knew that, now that he
was recovered from whatever had hap-
pened to him, the 'worship’ ought to
cease and if he simply sat quiet and tocJc
what was coming to him, they would, as
soon as they realized he was 'himself
once more, leave him alone and he would
get some relief from this uncomfortable
set of surroundings; get rid of the neck-
laces and the rings; get a little privacy.

106

WEIRD TALES

"But — the queer part of it all was that
they didn’t quit. No, the mob around
the house and on the gallery increased
rather than diminished, and at last he was
put to it, from sheer discomfort — ^he said
he came to the point where he felt he
couldn’t stand it all another instant — to
speak up and ask the people to leave him
in peace.

'"They left him, he says, at that, right
off the bat, immediately, without a pro-
testing voice, but — and here was what
started him on his major puzzlement —
they didn’t take off the necklaces and
rings. No — they left the whole set of
that metallic drapery which they had hung
and thrust upon him right there, and,
after he had been left alone, as he had re-
quested, and had gone into his house, and
lifted off the necklaces and worked the
rings loose, the next thing that happened
was that old Pa’p Josef, the local papaloi,
together with three or four other neigh-
boring papalois, witch-doaors from near-
by villages, and followed by a very old
man who was known to Carswell as the
hougan, or head witch-doaor of the
whole coimtryside thereabouts, came in
to him in a kind of procession, and knelt
down all around him on the floor of his
living-room, and laid down gourds of
cream and bottles of red rum and cooked
chickens, and even a big china bowl of
Tannia soup — a dish he abominated, said
it always tasted like soapy water to him!
— and then backed out leaving him to
these comestibles.

"He said that this sort of attention per-
sisted in his case, right through the three
days that he remained in his house in
Ltogane, before he started out for the
hospital; would, apparently, be still going
on if he hadn’t come in to Port au Prince
to us.

"But — his coming in was not, in the
least, because of this. It had puzzled him

a great deal, for there was nothing like
it in his experience, nor, so far as he
could gather from their attitude, in the
experience of the people about him, of
the papalois, or even of the hougan him-
self. 'They aaed, in other words, pre-
cisely as though the 'deity’ supposed to
have taken up his abode within him had
remained there, although there seemed
no precedent for such an occurrence, and,
so far as he knew, he felt precisely just
as he had felt right along, that is, fully
awake, and, certainly, not in anything
like an abnormal condition, and, very
positively, not in anything like a fainting-
fit!

"That is to say — ^he felt precisely the
same as usual except that — ^he attributed
it to the probability that he must have
fallen on the ground that time when he
lost consciousness going down the path-
way to the gate (he had been told that
passers-by had picked him up and carried
him to the gallery where he had
awakened, later, these Good Samaritans
meanwhile recognizing that one of the
'deities’ had indwelt him) — he felt the
same except for recurrent, almost unbear-
able pains in the vicinity of his lower
abdominal region.

'"There was nothing surprizing to him
in this accession of the new painfulness.
He had been warned that that would be
the beginning of the end. It was in the
rather faint hope that something might be
done that he had come in to the hospital.
It speaks volumes for the man’s forti-
tude, for his strength of charaaer, that
he came in so cheerfully; acquiesced in
what we suggested to him to do; re-
mained with us, facing those comparative-
ly slim chances with complete cheerful-
ness.

"For — we did not deceive Girswell —
the chances were somewhat slim. 'Sixty-
forty' I had said, but as I afterward made
clear to him, the favorable chances, as

PASSING OF A GOD

107

gleaned from the mortality tables, were
a good deal less than that.

"He went to the table in a state of
mind quite unchanged from his accus-
tomed cheerfulness. He shook hands
good-bye with Doaor Smithson and me,
'in case,’ and also with Doaor Jackson,
who aaed as anesthetist.

ARSWELL took an enormous amount
of ether to get him off. His con-
sciousness persisted longer, perhaps, than
that of any surgical patient I can remem-
ber. At last, however, Doaor Jackson
intimated to me that I might begin, and,
Doaor Smithson standing by with the
raraaing forceps, I made the first in-
cision. It was my intention, after careful
study of the X-ray plates, to open it up
from in front, in an up-and-down direc-
tion, establish drainage directly, and, leav-
ing the wound in the sound tissue in
front of it open, to attempt to get it
healed up after removing its contents.
Such is the technique of the major por-
tion of successful operations.

"It was a comparatively simple matter
to expose the outer wall. This accom-
plished, and after a few words of con-
sultation with my colleague, I very care-
fully opened it. We recalled that the
X-ray had shown, as I mentioned, a tri-
angular-shaped mass within. This appar-
ent content we attributed to some obscure
chemical coloration of the contents. I
made my incisions with the greatest care
and delicacy, of course. The critical part
of the operation lay right at this point,
and the greatest exaaitude was indicated,
of course.

"At last the outer coats of it were cut
through, and retraaed, and with renewed
caution I made the incision through the
inmost wall of tissue. To my surprize,
and to Doaor Smithson’s, the inside was
comparatively dry. The gauze which die
nurse attending had caused to follow the

path of the knife, was hardly moistened.
I ran my knife down below the original
scope of that last incision, then upward
from its upper extremity, greatly length-
ening the incision as a whole, if you are
following me.

"Then, reaching my gloved hand with-
in this long up-and-down aperture, I felr
about and at once discovered that I could
get my fingers in around the inner con-
taining wall quite easily. I reached and
worked my fingers in farther and farther,
finally getting both hands inside and at
last feeling my fingers touch inside the
posterior or rear wall. Rapidly, now, I
ran die edges of my hands around in-
side, and, quite easily, lifted out the ’in-
side.’ This, a mass weighing several
pounds, of more or less solid material,
was laid aside on the small table beside
the operating-table, and, again pausing
to consult with Doaor Smithson — the
operation was going, you see, a lot better
than either of us had dared to anticipate
— and being encouraged by him to pro-
ceed to a radical step which we had not
hoped to be able to take, I began die
disseaion from the surrounding, normal
tissue, of the now collapsed walls. This,
a long, difficult, and harassing job, was
accomplished at the end of, perhaps, ten
or twelve minutes of gruelling wo^ and
the bag-like thing, now completely sev-
ered from the tissues in which it had
been for so long imbedded, was placed
also on the side table.

"Doaor Jackson reporting favorably on
our patient’s condition under the anesthet-
ic, I now proceeded to dress the large
aperture, and to close the body-wouncL
This was accomplished in a routine man-
ner, and then, together, we bandaged
Carswell, and he was taken back to his
room to await awakening from the ether.

"Carswell disposed of, Dcxior Jadcson
and Doaor Smithson left the operating-
room and the nurse started in cleaning

108

WEIRD TALES

up after the operation; dropping the in-
struments into the boiler, and so on — a
routine set of duties. As for me, I picked
up the shell in a pair of forceps, turned
it about imder the strong electric oper-
ating-light, and laid it down again. It
presented nothing of interest for a pos-
sible laboratory examination.

"Then I picked up the more or less
solid contents which I had laid, very
hastily, and without looking at it — you
see, my actual removal of it had been
done inside, in the dark for the most part
and by the sense of feeling, with my
hands, you will remember — I picked it
up; I still had my operating-gloves on to
prevent infection when looking over these
specimens, and, still, not looking at it
particularly, carried it out into the lab-
oratory.

"Canevin” — Doaor Pelletier looked at
me somberly through the very gradually
fading light of late afternoon, the period
just before the abrupt falling of our
tropic dusk — “Canevin,” he repeated,
"honestly, I don’t know how to tell you!
Listen now, old man, do something for
me, will you?”

"Why, yes — of course,” said I, con-
siderably mystified. "What is it you want
me to do, Pelletier?”

"My car is out in front of the house.
Come on home with me, up to my house,
will you? Let’s say I want to give you a
cocktail! Anyhow, maybe you’ll under-
stand better when you are there, I want
to tell you the rest up at my house, not
here. Will you please come, Canevin?”

I looked at him closely. This seemed
to me a very strange, an abrupt, request.
Still, there was nothing whatever unrea-
sonable about such a sudden whim on
Pelletier’s part.

"Why, yes, certainly I’ll go with you,
Pelletier, if you want me to.”

"Come on, then,” said Pelletier, and
we started for his car.

'The doctor drove himself, and after
we had taken the first turn in the rather
complicated route from my house to his,
on the extreme airy top of Denmark Hill,
he said, in a quiet voice:

“Put together, now, Canevin, certain
points, if you please, in this story. Note,
kindly, how tihe Black people over in
Leogane acted, according to Carswell’s
story. Note, too, that theory I was telling
you about; do you recollea it clearly?”

“Yes,” said I, still more mystified.

"Just keep those two points in mind,
then,” added Doctor Pelletier, and de-
voted himself to navigating sharp turns
and plodding up two steep roadways for
the rest of the drive to his house.

W E WENT in and found his house-
boy laying the table for his dinner.
Doaor Pelletier is urunarried, keeps a
hospitable bachelor establishment. He
ordered cocktails, and the houseboy de-
parted on this errand. Then he led me
into a kind of office, littered with medical
and surgical paraphernalia. He lifted
some papers off a chair, motioned me into
it, and took another near by. "Listen,
now!” he said, and held up a ^ger at me.

"I took that thing, as I mentioned, into
the laboratory,” said he. “I carried it in
my hand, with my gloves still on, as
aforesaid. I laid it down on a table and
turned on a powerful light over it. It
was only then that I took a good look at
it. It weighed several pounds at least,
was about the bulk and heft of a full-
grown coconut, and about the same color
as a hulled coconut, that is, a kind of
medium brown. As I looked at it, I saw
that it was, as the X-ray had indicated,
vaguely triangular in shape. It lay over
on one of its sides imder that powerful
light, and — Canevin, so help me God” —
Doaor Pelletier leaned toward me, his
face working, a great seriousness in his
eyes — "it moved, Canevin,” he mur-

PASSING OF A GOD

109

mured; "and, as I looked — the thing
breathed! I was just plain dumfounded.
A biological specimen like that — does not
move, Guievin! I shook all over, sud-
denly. I felt my hair prickle on the roots
of my scalp. I felt chills go down my
spine. Then I remembered that here I
was, after an operation, in my own bio-
logical laboratory. I came close to the
thing and propped it up, on what might
be called its logical base, if you see what
I mean, so that it stood as nearly upright
as its triangular conformation permitted.

"And then I saw that it had faint yel-
lowish markings over the brown, and that
what you might call its skin was moving,
and — as I stared at the thing, Guievin —
two things like little arms began to move,
and the top of it gave a kind of con-
vulsive shudder, and it opened straight at
me, Canevin, a pair of eyes and looked
me in the face.

"Those eyes — my God, Guievin, those
eyes! They were eyes of something more
than human, Canevin, something incred-
ibly evil, something vastly old, sophisti-
cated, cold, immune from an3rthing ex-
cept pure evil, the eyes of something that
had been worshipped, Canevin, from ages
and ages out of a past that went back
before all known human calculation, eyes
that showed all the deliberate, lurking
wickedness that has ever been in the
world. The eyes closed, Canevin, and the
thing sank over onto its side, and heaved
and shuddered convulsively.

"It was sick, Canevin; and now, em-
boldened, holding myself together, re-
peating over and over to myself that I
had a case of the quavers, of post-opera-
tive 'nerves,’ I forced myself to look
closer, and as I did so I got from it a
faint whiflF of ether. Two tiny, ape-like
nostrils, over a clamped-shut slit of a
mouth, were exhaling and inhaling;
drawing in the good, pure air, exhaling
ether fumes. It popped into my head that

Carswell had consumed a terrific amount
of ether before he went under; we had
commented on that, Doaor Jackson par-
ticularly. I put two and two together,
Canevin, remembered we were in Haiti,
where things are not like New York, or
Boston, or Baltimore! Those negroes had
believed that the 'deity’ had not come out
of Carswell, do you see? That was the
thing that held the edge of my mind.
The thing stirred uneasily, put out one of
its 'arms,’ groped about, stiffened.

"I reached for a near-by specimen-jar,
Canevin, reasoning, almost blindly, that
if this thing were susceptible to ether, it
would be susceptible to — ^well, my gloves
were still on my hands, and — ^now shud-
dering so that I could hardly move at all,
I had to force every motion — I reached
out and took hold of the thing — it felt
like moist leather — and dropped it into
the jar. Then I carried the carboy of
preserving alcohol over to the table and
poured it in till the ghastly thing was en-
tirely covered, the alcohol near the top of
the jar. It writhed once, then rolled over
on its 'back,’ and lay still, the mouth now
open. Do you believe me, Canevin?”

"I have always said that I would be-
lieve anything, on proper evidence,” said
I, slowly, "and I would be the last to
question a statement of yours, Pelletier.
However, although I have, as you say,
looked into some of these things perhaps
more than most, it seems, well ”

Doctor Pelletier said nothing. Then he
slowly got up out of his chair. He stepped
over to a wall-cupboard and returned, a
wide-mouthed specimen- jar in his hand.
He laid the jar down before me, in si-
lence.

I looked into it, through the slightly
discolored alcohol with which the jar,
tightly sealed with rubber-tape and seal-
ing-wax, was filled nearly to the brim.
There, on the jar’s bottom, lay such a
thing as Pelletier had described (a thing

WEIRD TALES

which, if it had been "seated,” upright,
would somewhat have resembled that
representation of the happy little godling
’Billiken’ which was popular twenty years
ago as a desk ornament) , a thing suggest-
ing the sinister, the unearthly, even in
this dessicated form. I looked long at the
thing.

"Excuse me for even seeming to hesi-
tate, Pelletier,” said I, reflectively.

"I can’t say that I blame you,” returned
the genial doaor. "It is, by the way, the
first and only time I have ever tried to
tell the story to anybody.”

"And Girswell?” I asked. "I’ve been
intrigued with that good fellow and his
difficulties. How did he come out of it
all?”

"He made a magnificent recovery from
the operation,” said Pelletier, "and after-
ward, when he went bade to Lwgane, he
told me that the negroes, while glad to
see him quite as usual, had quite lost
interest in him as the throne of a 'divin-
ity’.”

"H’m,” I remarked, "it would seem,
that, to bear out ”

"Yes,” said Pelletier, "I have always
regarded that faa as absolutely con-
clusive. Indeed, how otherwise could one
possibly account for — this?" He indicated
the contents of the laboratory jar.

I nodded my head, in agreement with
him. "I can only say that — if you won’t
feel insulted, Pelletier — ^that you are sin-
gularly open-minded, for a man of sd-
ence! What, by the way, became of
Carswell?”

The houseboy came in with a tray, and
Pelletier and I drank to each other’s good
health.

"He came in to Port au Prince,” re-

plied Pelletier after he had done the
honors. "He did not want to go bade to
the States, he said. ’The lady to whom
he had been engaged had died a couple
of years before; he felt that he would be
out of touch with American business. 'The
faa is — he had stayed out here too long,
too continuously. But, he remains an
'authority’ on Haitian native affairs, and
is consulted by the High Commissioner.
He knows, literally, more about Haiti
than the Haitians themselves. I syish you
might meet him; you’d have a lot in
common.”

"I’ll hope to do that,” said I, and rose
to leave. The houseboy appeared at the
door, smiling in my dir^on.

"The table is set for two, sar,” said he.

Doaor Pelletier led the way into the
dining-room, taking it for granted that I
would remain and dine with him. We
are informal in St. Thomas, about sudi
matters. I telephoned home and sat down
with him.

Pelletier suddenly laughed — he was
half-way through his soup at the moment.
I looked up inquiringly. He put down his
soup spoon and looked aaoss the table
at me.

"It’s a bit odd,” he remarked, "when
you stop to think of it! There’s one
thing Carswell doesn’t know about Haiti
and what happens there!”

"What’s that?” I inquired.

"That — thing — in there,” said Pelle-
tier, indicating the office with his thumb
in the way artists and surgeons do. "I
thought he’d had troubles enough without
that on his mind, too.”

I nodded in agreement and resumed
my soup. Pelletier has a cook in a thou-
sand. . . .

3. The Master Has a Narrow Escape

TaJes- of- the-Wereuiolf.

OIafx* *

BYHWARNie

MUNN

1. The Leather Cannon

I T WAS noon of a pleasant October
day in die year of our Lord, 1640.
The sun in its course over north-
western Germany laid warm beams im-
partially upon warring Gttholic and
Lutheran alike. Many years of war
had made their marks in deep impres-
sions upon the countryside, and upon the
countyfolk as well. Children had been
bom while war raged and grown up
knowing no other sort of existence; the
maiden to lead a life of shame in the
train of one of the numerous armies, the
strong man to become a pillager and rob
others as his own heritage had been
snatched from him. Life had grown
crude and hard.

The sun passed on, illuminating
charred towers, forsaken cities, plundered
cathedrals; fields long fallen knew the
healing glow, and little green things
sprouting between the cobblestones of
deserted villages rejoiced that the crush-
ing foot of man no longer troubled them.

The noxious weed of intolerance
which had sprouted on St. Bartholomew’s
Eve had flowered and cast its blight over
all Europe, and its far-flung roots were
thrust deep in German soil.

Direaly over a small sandy hill the
sunbeams streamed down into an excava-
tion which had converted the elevation
into a mde fortalice.

The pit was roughly twenty feet deep
by thirty in length. Crude ladders led

112

WEIRD TALES

here and there from the bottom of the
pit to a firing-platfotm whidi tan around
the sides of the hole, about five feet bw'
er than the rim. In places the loose sand
and turf had cav^ down, fotimng
mounds of earth upon the platform. But
even so, a man might yet crouch low and
be unobserved by any one, for the hill
was the highest point m the immediately
surroundmg country.

At two sides lay, crescent-like, a thick
beech wood, and on the other, perhaps a
mile distant, die ruins of a village flamed
and aadded. A cloud of smoke drifted
idly toward the hill m a faint breeze,
which also bore the distant report of a
muskettxin or blunderbuss.

The sparse stubble of a cornfield
pridced up, reaped before its time by
starving soldiery, but it was a straggling
crop that had sprung up by itself un-
tended by man.

It had once been a field of battle, and
in spots, more green than the rest, spikes
of stalks grew up through the white ribs
of contestants who had fallen there and
had never been removed.

The sim moved on its course and an
hour passed before any sound broke the
stilbess of the sandpit. An unmistak-
ably femmine voice asked: **What news,
Jorian? Are they coming bade?”

A young man who had been lying very
still beneath a low part of the rim, look-
ing out toward Ae burning village,
sighed heavily without answering, and
crouching, limped toward one of the lad-
ders. One leg was bandaged with
bloody rags and he winced as his weight
came upon it. He had been shot
through the calf a week before and the
wound had developed infection and was
slow to heal.

He came across the pit and stood be-
fore his companion without raising his
eyes from the sand at his feet, while he

clicked his dagger nervously to and fro
in its sheath.

She, a girl under twenty, with long
fair hair in braids wound around her
head, looked at him sharply with her
large blue eyes.

"Speak, Jorian Yonge! What is the
matter? Are they coming? Come! Do
you think me a camp trull to tremble at
bad news?”

This stung him and he raised his eyes.
She saw that his face was haggard and
strained, as he replied.

"They will never come, Hanne; the
White Bears were stronger and my coun-
trymen are dead!”

Without showing emotion, she said:
"And that means?”

"Who knows? If they think to fol-
low the tracks backward they will find
us. We can not leave here until night
or they will surely see us. If we are not
noticed by then — there are still two
horses in the beechwood ”

"And then ?”

"I have friends in the Spanish Nether-
lands; we will go there vdiere there is no
fighting. I will find you shelter and
employment and jrou can go your way
and I mine.” i

She looked at him quizzically.

"Jorian, you Saved my life months ago,
from die mercenaries who killed my fam-
ily. You have since kept me at your
side and saved me from harm in war and
insult in camp. Comrades are we,
Jorian! I have learned to fi^t beside
you, to cook for you, to speak your lan-
guage. You have never spoken a word
of love to me, nor have I sought it. I
do not seek it now.

"We are companions, Jorian, and you
shall not put me from you! Jorian,
there are no separations for us two; our
ways lie together!”

The young man’s face flushed under
the tan and dirt; he was about to speak

W. T.— 7

THE MASTER HAS A NARROW ESCAPE

113

when a noise upon the hill’s outer slope
startled him to silence.

He snatched up a short bell-mouthed
gun from a small pile of similar weapons
and scuttled up the ladder, hardly limp-
ing in his hurry.

The girl heard him call, "Stop where
you are!” as he leveled his blunderbuss,
but flying to his side, she paused.

High and shrill rang a childish cry.
"Don’t you hurt my father!”

J ORIAN leapt over the rim and reap-
peared almost at once, supporting an
aged man, swart and wrinkled in the face,
gray-haired, eyes bloodshot and mum-
bling vacantly to himself as though
stunned by horror. He staggered as he
walked and a little girl, about ten years
old, who followed him, clung tightly to
his hand.

They looked toward the ruined village;
nothing stirred there now and all seemed
very quiet and peaceful, so they took the
old man and child down the ladder.

Noticing how his eyes glistened at the
sight of a lump of dark bread, partly
ground bark powdered to a coarse flour
and the rest rough corn meal, the girl
broke it and shared between the oldster
and the child their meager store.

After this had been disposed of and
waslied down with thin, sour wine which
Jorian had discovered in a cask supposed
to be water, as it was marked, they
seemed much refreshed.

'The oldster spoke to the younger man
in rapid German, but, he understanding
but little, the German girl, Hanne, made
reply.

"Swedish.^” asked the oldster, nodding
toward Jorian.

"Yes,” said the girl, "he was one of a
company of Lutheran Swedes that were
camped here this past week to rest and
hide from a company of marauders who
W. T.— 8

call themselves tbe White Bears. This
morning, they heard such a doleful cry-
ing from yon village that they could not
keep away. They would not let me go
and Jorian was too lame.”

"My poor dear,” said the oldster, "your
friends are all dead. I and my daughter
were in the village when the White Bears
attacked the defenseless people, and we
escaped only because they had not reached
the hut where I was hiding, before the
Swedes came up. We ran into the
bushes during the fighting and hid. Later
when no one was looking our way we
came this way to hide, not knowing diat
any one was here.

"I know the White Bears well. They
are brigands without any discipline in
their dealings with the helpless. They
treat men and women like b^ts. 'Those
who have money are their enemies. Those
who have none are punished because they
have it not. Their leader is a grim brute
called 'Bloody’ Boris Balta.

"Once they served as mercenaries un-
der Tilly and Pappenheim; now they fight
for themselves and have committed un-
speakable outrages everywhere. They have
driven human being naked into the streets
of their villages they have taken, after their
flesh has been pierced with needles or cut
to the bone with saws. Others they have
scalded with boiling water and hunted
with fierce dogs.

"People so poor that they are forced
to live on grass, leaves and bones that
they have broken to bits and boiled for
food, are tortured to force them to dis-
close treasures which it is plain they have
not.

"Do I think they will come here? Per-
haps. Maybe not. Who can tell? They
are very busy now.

"I supposed your Swedes came from
the woods and I followed their trades.
The White Bears may do the same. We

114

WEIRD TALES

ought to be preparing for them. Seven
musketoons, you say? That is very good.
I see you also have a Swedish leather
cannon. Those are the most effective
weapons of their size that I have ever
seen. Let us mount it pointing at the
village, so if they come we will be able
to give them a hot welcome!”

Jorian agreed, and as the three older
members were working, he said; "Did
you ever see Lennart Torstenson, who in-
vented that? No? He is the greatest of
generals, and the quickest of wit, save
only our hero king. He discovered that
our artillery was too heavy and cumber-
some to be placed quickly, so he had a
number of pieces made like this.

"Of course you know that it is a light
steel tube wrapped and bound with strips
of wet rawhide. When the hide dries
it tightens and the cannon is then strong
enough for a smaller charge than that
used in the regular artillery. They
weigh about seventy-five pounds, and one
is easily carried on a man’s shoulder to
places where no other cannon can go.
Our company made this one and mounted
it, as you see, upon a tripod of saplings.
It has been a great help to us in a pinch
when we had to retreat or advance
quickly.

"Are you really afraid that they will
come? There are two horses in the
beeches down below, if we can leave here
unseen after dark.”

The girl, Hanne, translated and was
answered.

"If you have horses, we can strike a
bargain. I will help you, if you will
help me. Let us go down into die shade
while we talk. Achsahl”

The child came up the ladder.

"Yes, father?”

"Stay here and keep watch for us. If
you see the bad men coming this way let
IB know at once.”

T he sun had perceptibly declined
toward the west, as the three took
their seats at the shady end of the pit.
Here were piled tier upon tier of iron-
bound chests, and seating himself upon
one, the oldster fished out a pipe from an
inner pocket and began to fill it, when
Hanne stopped him.

’"Those chests are filled with gunpow-
der, Herr ?”

"Gimther,” nodded the oldster, laying
down his unlighted pipe, "Gottfried Gun-
ther is my name, though my great-grand-
father, whom I remember dimly, said that
his father was French and had a French
name, Gunnar. There were a lot of
brothers then and a terrible thing hap-
pened which I was never told about, so
that they separated and went to different
countries, changing their names there to
conform with the languages that they had
to learn. I have never seen any of them
but I heard from one somewhere in Rus-
sia, who had the name of Naakve Gun-
narsson.”

’"That sounds Swedish or Danish,”
commented Jorian.

"Maybe it is,” said Gunther, indiffer-
ently. "I only know he was somewhere
in the North. He wrote me a long let-
ter before the war and wanted me to come
up and help him make trouble for some
people in a place he hated. Ponkert, in
Bohemia or Hungary, I don’t remember
which. Ever hear of it? He said that
was where we all came from once.”

'The two shook their heads.

"Well, I was a stout burgher then in
Magdeburg, and I wasn’t going to drop
everything to hunt the crane for nothing
a day, so I stayed at home and minded
my own business and never heard from
him again. It was just a little after that
when the trouble started.

"I was unmarried then, and had a
small butcher shop of my own with no
cares, debts or enemies as far as I knew.

THE MASTER HAS A NARROW ESCAPE

115

It was bade in 1618, when I began to
suffer with nightmares. I began to dream
that something dreadful was going to
happen, was coming neater and nearer
all the time; I seemed to see a black cloud
that wasn’t altogether a doud, but some-
thing alive like nothing I ever saw or
heard of before!

"Just before this thing came near
enough for me to make out what it was,
I would always wake up, with a death
sweat on me, and I thought it would
pass and be forgotten.

"But one night I didn’t wake up in
time, or maybe I was awake and aaually
saw what I thought I dreamed about!
God! I have prayed night after night
that it was a dream, but even yet I don’t
know, for after that it never came again.

"I woke, or thought that 1 awoke, and
saw a horrible little man in a black doak,
all huddled up on the foot of my bed.
His eyes gleamed like phosphorus in the
dark, and I could make out faintly that
he had a very stern impressive look that
commanded more respea than if he had
been a giant instead of a dwarf.

"He said, 'Gottfried Gunther, I would
have called upon you before, but I have
been very much occupied in France and
England, and have not been able to give
Jean Gunnar’s children the attention they
deserve.’ (My great-grandfather’s fath-
er was named Jean, but I did not know
that then, and that is why I do not know
if I dreamed this thing.) 'I have just
finished with France and mean to have a
little sport here. Go where you wish, do
what you may, you belong to me, Gott-
fried Gunther, and you can not escape.
Know this also, wherever you go, calam-
ity, death and sorrow will be your com-
panions.’

"It has been as he said. I was about
your age dien, young man; I am fifty-five
now and look as well as feel ninety. For
twenty-five years I have been hunted over

poor suffering Germany. I have tried
to get out of the country and have always
been turned bade. I know that I am
doomed to die here and I feel that not
until my death is accomplished will my
beloved land be free from wars and pes-
tilence.

"I believe that the devil has got a hold
upon me, but I can think of no reason
that he should have power over me, based
upon any aa of mine.

"He called himself the Master and
seemed very angry when I implied that I
had never heard of him.

" 'You will!’ he squeaked, in a very
high voice, and his cloak lifted like a pair
of great black wings. 'You will hear
more than a little before you see me
again. Mind now! Go to your window
and you will see my sign of menace
hanging in the sky!’

'"Then it seemed that he grew bloated
beneath his cloak, which quivered and
twitched as his body puffed out; his face
grew thin and pointed and before I real-
ized what was taking place, a monstrous
leather-winged bat huddled clicking its
teeth at me, while sharp jet-black talons
tore the bed coverings.

"Its bulk filled the window and it flew
away. I thought I heard a high voice
chirp, 'I am your Master and foe of all
the world!’ and I awoke.

"I ran to the window; a bloody hue
suffused the sky where flamed a long-
tailed comet. 'Then I believed my dream
was true!

"You must know as well as I, that
comets forecast terrible coming events.
If ever there was a doubt, this comet
would dispel it, as also the one which
flamed on St. Bartholomew’s bloody
night. ’The great Luther himself says:

The heathen write that the Comet may arise
from material causes; but God creates not one
that does not foretoken a sure calamity.

116

WEIRD TALES

"Perhaps you have heard the rime that
a couple of Swiss Lutheran preachers put
forth when this comet was first seen:

Eight things there be a Comet brings,

When it on high doth horrid range;

Wind, Famine, Plague and Death to Kings,

War, Earthquake, Floods and Direful Change.

"Just a little later the Protestants rose
in rebellion in Bohemia and this terrible
war began.

"You both were not born then, you
know of no condition but war and so it
seems natural to you; but to me who had
lived in peace the change was dreadful.
In the last few years I have been a wan-
derer and I have seen things that seem
impossible. Three-quarters of the popu-
lation of Germany are dead. You know
how people are starving, how villages by
hundreds are flat to their foundations, and
others without an inhabitant, but do you
know in places that men are no better
than beasts? These very White Bears
are cannibals! They eat the men and
women they capture, if they lack other
meat!

"I was in Worms when this very band
was attacked and dispersed, as they were
cooking in a great cauldron human legs
and arms, which they had obtained from
criminals cut down from the gallows.
They are wild Croats, Bohemians, Wends,
Wallons, renegades of all types, equal in
nothing but ferocity and pitilessness.

"It did not take long for man to retro-
grade. Pestilence, the Black Death, fol-
lowed the comet’s trail. None but the
vilest of men had sufficient contempt for
death to dig the graves of the plague-in-
feaed and to tend the sick. Some were
heartless enough to infea others that their
business might continue, and they scat-
tered infeaed matter along the streets to
keep the pestilence at its height and them-
selves in luxury.

"Too, these ravens, as they were called,
would seek people who had enemies and

for a bribe would snatch these enemies
away and hustle them off to some hos-
pital, where they were herded in with
plague sufferers and soon died from de-
spair or sickness, unless they could pay
more than the previous offer.

"If one resisted on the way, they
shouted out that he was delirious from
suffering, and no one would help!

"These grave-diggers and nurses were
drawn from desperate criminals and re-
leased galley slaves, so weary of life that
any other existence than that in the chains
was acceptable.

"At Magdeburg in 1625, I lost my
maid through these men. I had sent her
to a public house to fetch beer, where she
met a company of grave-diggers and
plague attendants, one of whom seized
her and forced her to dance with him.

"At the end of the dance he threw his
cloak over her head, breathed in her face
and said in a rough voice: 'Ha, wench,
that will do for you; you will have to pay
for it!’ She was so terrified that she fell
ill as soon as she returned home and died
the night after.

"I was not married then. I met my
wife during the siege of Magdeburg by
Wallenstein in 1629. She was one of
the peasant girls from outside the city,
that had come in for shelter. We always
kept our cattle inside the city walls and
often inside the houses, besides which we
had a large herd of swine. She used to
come to my butcher shop for meat, and
we talked and laughed and had fine times
while the enemy was pounding at the
walls.

"Let me tell you, young people, it is
the peasants who suffer most in these
wars. In the beginning they are poor
and are glad to have the chance of en-
riching themselves by plunder, but they
support themselves the while by their
pay as mercenaries.

THE MASTER HAS A NARROW ESCAPE

117

"The nobles, also, who are so numer-
ous and grind us down, take advantage
of the opportunity to indulge their pri-
vate grudges and robberies.

"Then comes along some leader of
ability like Wallenstein that can handle
both nobles and peasants, and keeps them
in his service by indulging their evil in-
stinas. But afterward, what?

“Those of the peasants that hang onto
their farms support all the rest. Their
food is stolen, their women abused, their
men taken to fight. No hospitals take
care of them. It is cheaper to hire a new
recruit than to cure an old one.

"And afterward again the peasant be-
comes a slave, not daring to lift his head
and look his brutal lord in the face. It
has been thus before, it will be so now.
If you want to live and be happy, Europe
is no place for you. You must seek some
new land and begin all over again.

"Well, I wouldn’t let the peasant girl
go back again when the siege was over.
We decided that the worst had come and
gone, and that we would marry. So our
love affair that had dragged along and
made seven months of imprisonment
happy ended with that. Not that we
weren’t happy then! Don’t let me fright-
en you, young woman. It’s just an old
man’s way of talking, that’s all.

"Wallenstein gaVe up in disgust, and
took his mercenaries away, and the next
year was the happiest in my life. There
were rumors of wars but none came near
us.

"Gustavus Adolphus, your Swedish
king, was avoiding a vast horde of men
commandecT by Pappenheim and Tilly.
There were a number of Swedish soldiers
in Magdeburg, at that time, and Tilly at-
tacked our city to force the Lutherans to
come to our assistance. Your fellow
Swedes under Dietrich von Falkenburg
swore to hold out to the death, and we

burghers agreed with high enthusiasm
and manned the walls.

"That was in March of 1631, and we
held out against terrible odds until May
twentieth. Our food was almost entire-
ly gone at the beginning of the siege. At
its end people were feeding upon grass
and leaves. In one park at least, the
very bark was stripped from the trees,
and if some one should chance to trap a
rat or small bird, a dozen were ready to
snatch it from him.

"A woman was discovered to have fed
upon her own child and the sharp edge
of the headsman’s ax sated her hunger.
That was early in May; before the city
fell, many starving wretches had main-
tained their worthless lives in similar
manners.

"But we would not give in. That way
meant death for all. Every day we
looked for help, but none came. We
could not know that it would never come;
that the cowardly Eleaor of Saxony
would not help your brave king, and so
we fought on and grew weak and failed
and Pappenheim took the city by storm.

"Day and night, went on an unceasing
din of wild sounds, the clashing of
swords, the shouting of battle cries, the
groans of the dying and the crash of fall-
ing stones and timbers and crumbling
walls. The air was full of smoke from
fires started by the red-hot balls that were
hurled among us. Crumbling mortar
rained down from the ramparts where the
missiles struck. 'They even rigged up an
old stone-hurler like those tbe ancients
used; some called it a trebuchet and some
a mangonel, I don’t know what the real
name was. I was a butcher, not a
scholar. But they hurled in dead men
and dead horses over the walls, hoping to
start an epidemic.

"We sent out a spy, in hopes that he
could sneak through the lines and reach

118

WEIRD TALES

Gustavus Adolphus, but they caught him
and early tlie next morning we heard a
screaming high in the air, where soared
our spy, still living! They had bound
him hand and foot and fired him into the
dty, where he struck on one of the towers
of our beautiful cathedral and fell to the
pavement below, crushed, leaving a
blotch upon the fair masonry carvings.

"After that we sent out no more spies.

"I see your powder here is the com
(granulated) type. One of the more
friendly disposed of our captors told me
after the city had been captured, that they
had been making their own powder on
the spot. They said that this serpentine
powder was very weak, but we within
Magdeburg found it strong enough to
beat down our walls; but before they did
it, they sufiFered and so did we.

“They fired balls of granite, of iron
and of lead. They heated iron balls red-
hot and rolled them into their cannon
muazles, where they ignited the powder
and the glowing missile was hurled
among our narrow crooked streets and
old wooden buildings.

"Eventually, however, a breach was
made in the wall and Tilly’s men rushed
for it. We were ready and waiting.
Plumes of smoke moimted high from the
fires where we melted lead and pitch. We
hurried the kettles to the edges of the
gap, while other townsmen met the mer-
cenaries and contested the way.

"Men shrieked in agony, burned and
scalded also with boiling oil, and blinded
by barrels of unslaked lime that we
poured down upon them!

“'Then there was a lull, but they came
again and we had not time or material or
men to beat them back. May 20th, they
stormed the walls and Magdeburg fell.
Mighty Magdeburg, whidi had laughed
at Wallenstein and which we thought im-
pregnable!

“►’T^illy’s mercenaries were crazy for

A plimder and rapine and knew no
law or master, when tliey had conquered,
except their own brutal desires. They
wanted money and revenge for their
dead. They were filled with blood-lust,
and more than all die rest, they wanted
women. All were to be found in Mag-
deburg.

"Against orders, the wild Croats
rushed up and down the streets massa-
cring every man thqr met and throwing
firebrands into the houses until smoke
and flame arose on all sides. The wood
and plaster struaures were destrt^ed;
only our twin-spired cathedral, the
churches and stonebuilt houses stood in-
taa.

“My wife and I had fled with a large
crowd of about four thousand people
into the cathedral for shelter, and the
doors were barred.

"The conquerors respeaed our sanc-
tuary, but not that of the churches, one of
which we could see, when they burst into
it and killed many women huddled there.

"One whole day they plundered and
killed. Tilly — ^the devil, the murderer — ■
came into Magdeburg the following
morning. He sat a bony charger before
our refuge and promised us security,
while looking over the ruins.

"He was a tall haggard-looking man,
dressed in a short slashed green satin
jacket, with a long red feather on his high
crowned hat, with large bright eyes peer-
ing from beneath his deeply furrowed
brow; a stiflf mustache under his pointed
nose.

“We had no choice in the matter. The
cathedral doors were opened and we four
thousand carne out, pale, hungry and
weak. We found that we were almost
all that was left of the population. There
were twenty thousand stark bodies in the
streets, and the Elbe was lined with
corpses of those who had fled fire and

THE MASTER HAS A NARROW ESCAPE

119

sword, only to drown in the river. I
heard Tilly remark to an officer near by,
as we marched past, that ’no such a siege
has been seen since the destruaion of
Troy and Jerusalem.’

"We went forth unharmed, under the
protection of stria orders in our favor,
and we scattered in search of food.

"Later I joined a small band of sol-
diers, while my wife became one of the
many camp followers, with the difference
that she was faithful to me alone, and did
not sell her favors to any one, like most
of the other women.

"Achsah there was bom on the march
one day; I lagged behind with her moth-
er, and later rejoined my company. They
followed still while we fighting men
fought over most of Germany’s bishop-
rics and palatinates at one time or an-
other, and when she had grown to be
eight years old, the three of us came back
again to Magdeburg.

"Rude huts had been rebuilt around
the Cathedral and we settled in one and
tried to start life over. Soon dreams
tame again and I felt unsafe.

"Shortly after, our community was
raided by brigands, and my wife was
killed by a looter. We have since wan-
dered in fear of our persecutor, the Mas-
ter.”

T hh old man paused. His story, with
numerous pauses for translations to
Jorian, had lasted until the sun was near
the western hills.

"Gunther,” said Jorian, "did you ever
here of Wineland, the fertile coimtry in
the West, which Leif Ericsson discov-
ered? I have heard that it has been sa-
tled now by the English. Surely that is
far enough away, so that if we could get
there we would all be safe from this Mas-
ter you fear.”

"Wineland? Wineland?” Hanne knit-
ted her brows, then suddenly smiled. VI

know what you mean, Jorian, but it is
called America, after Amerigus who dis-
covered it.”

"It is not,” defended the young Swede
stoutly. "This Amerigus is a dieat.”

"Children, you are both wrong,” Gun-
ther put in. "America was discovered
by Kristofer Kolon, but even there I
would not feel safe. The Master would
surely follow!”

The reaaion to this statement was pre-
cipitating a very pretty quarrel, when sud-
denly a low call from the platform above
hushed the three.

"Father! Bad men are coming!” 'ITie
little girl came down the ladder.

At once the dispute was forgotten.
Swarming up the ladders, the three
crouched low and peered toward the vil-
lage. Many men were visible, moving in
little clumps and knots of fighters, that
marched with two or three men armed
with muskaoons or arquebuses, in the
center with perhaps a dozen others bear-
ing pikes and halberds, surrounding for
the gunners’ proteaion while they re-
loaded their clumsy weapons.

It did not behoove men, in numbers
or alone, to walk unwarily in Germany
at that time.

They were moving steadily across the
fallow fields toward the hillock, and
Gunther wrung his hands in dismay.

"What are we to do? Where can my
little girl be safe?” he moaned to him-
self, and then with sudden resolution
turned to the others.

"Take Achsah,” he said, "and flee to
the beechwood, bending low that ye may
not be seen, and by firing off these guns
already loaded they will think that many
men are here and will come slowly on,
giving you three time to escape.”

"How about yourself?” asked Hanne.
"Are we to run like cowards and leave
you to fight our battles? We will die

120

WEIRD TALES

with you or flee with you, but we will not
separate!”

Jorian nodded vigorously, when state-
ment and answer were translated.

"We stick!” he said, succinaly, and lit
the end of a piece of rope, blowing the
coal in readiness for firing the cannon.

"Ah, you are brave!” Gunther smiled
sadly. "Is it my fault that this curse lies
upon me? Think upon our situation.
Over yonder swarm the brigands. They
are bound to capture us wherever we may
flee. For reasons of my own, I know
they are searching for me.

"Last night, too, I had another wak-
ing dream, in which I was marked today
as the Master’s prey. I think I can cheat
him, and I am going to try. Somewhere
he lurks, biding his time, until it is dark
when he can strike! I have never seen
him in daylight, which I believe he fears,
so until actual sundown we are safe.

"I believe that I have a plan that will
save you, and if you promise to take my
little Achsah with you, somewhere that
will be secure, where you can give her
Christian upbringing and swear to guard
her always, I will make you rich besides
ridding you of immediate pursuit.”

The two looked at each other. Hanne
nodded slowly and Jorian replied.

"We are in poverty and have little
choice. If it is yoiu: wish and you have
money, give us enough to go to ”

Gunther raised a hand in a peremptory
gesture for silence.

"Do not say whither ye go! Who
knows where open wide the Master’s ears
for our speech? Here is money; go, and
go at once!”

From his rags, he drew out a broad
leather belt, which he handed to Hanne.

"Haste ye now to the beech grove!” he
commanded.

She ran down the hill, darting from
bush to thicket, bending low to avoid

discovery from the brigands who strag-
gled across the field.

"Hark ye, Yonge! Guard her well!
Watch over my girl, as I guard ye today.
That belt is filled with gold. Spend with
care and run. Swede, run!”

Jorian leapt with the word and disap-
peared among the beeches.

The little maid had sat quietly in the
pit below, and absorbed in her own
amusements had not listened to the low
conversation above; so she looked up in
surprize as her father knelt and removed
her scarlet coat. He strained her to his
breast in a crushing passionate embrace,
murmuring guttural words of endearment.

"Go thou into the beechwood, lieb-
chen,” he said, after an agonized moment
of yearning love. "Find the pretty lady
and the big man.”

"Oh, a game! A game!” she crowed
ecstatically and would have set out at
once over the edge of the sand-pit, but
turned back.

"Come! You come too! You find!”

But Gottfried Gunther shook his large
head. His brow was furrowed with
anxiety; already he could hear the high
conversation of the brigands and the
sun’s round edge was nicked ragged with
the trees upon the western hills, but he
forced a smile.

"Father will come and find you all,
dear. Won’t that be fun?”

She chuckled and climbed up the bank
and sat there frowning.

"Men come, father!”

"I know, darling, hurry and find the
pretty lady or she will be lost. Don’t
let the men see you or the game will be
spoiled!”

She was gone.

G unther staggered with the relief,
but the weakness was momentary.
The sun was a semicircle of garnet, on a
purple base; a dark cloud was driving

THE MASTER HAS A NARROW ESCAPE

121

toward him from the east, against the
wind.

He heard the shout of the White Bears
and knew that they had come upon his
tracks in mud near a spring where the
child had stopped to drink. He brought
up an armful of the musketoons and ar-
ranged them upon the rim of the forta-
lice. Near the cannon the smoldering
rope sent up a thread of bluish-gray.

With a great effort he picked up the
leather cannon, tripod and all, and set it
in a mote strategic position.

Then came many men, pressing for-
ward, crowding up the incline. He fired
the charges of seven guns among them,
but with little hesitation they came on.

In desperation, Gunther swung the
cannon muzzle a trifle more toward a
knot of men and ignited the charge. A
pound and a half of tagged metal and
pebbles tore into the thick of them, and
the hesitation became a rout.

A hideous row of curses, threats, and
cries of pain followed, but Gunther did
not hear them.

The small cannon, too light for its
charge, had recoiled from its insecure po-
sition in the sand and lay, with one leg
of the tripod cracked, on the floor of the
sand-pit. Gunther, half stunned, gasped
close by.

To him there came the stirring notes
of a trumpet and he knew the White
Bears were regaining order. He stumbled
to his feet and raised the cannon. An
instant’s scrutiny told him that the can-
non was hopeless as an engine of de-
fense with the ruined tripod, but an idea
came to him as he stared wildly about,
and quickly he arranged the child’s scar-
let cloak in a corner to resemble what he
hoped might be mistaken at a quick
glance for Achsah, asleep.

The sun was out of sight now, but as
with haste and frantic fingers he reloaded
the cannon with a smaller charge that was

composed of powder and rags, he saw an
oddly shaped cloud sweep darkly above,
poise there, hover, and sink gradually
down.

. He felt its approach as a menacing
presence, loathsome, huge; steadily drop-
ping it came nearer until at last its shape-
less horror assumed the alien shape of the
Master as he had dwelt upon the planet
Nithrys, as it spun in slow orbit about
Algol, the Demon Star.

Lapsing then into merciful insanity, he
threw back his head, and when the White
Bears came over the lip of the hollow they
were greeted with a neighing high-
pitched mad laugh like a scream. They
gathered about him as he stood there,
looking up, still holding the smoking
rope in his hand, and one seized him by
the shoulder, as he babbled on, pointing
above.

• Boris Balta and the others looked up,
but saw only that a cloud had crossed the
sun and cast a shadow into die hollow,
which was crowded with brigands.

He presented a daggar at Gunther’s
breast.

"Tell us this joke, cup-companion who
dared to steal the money of the White
Bears. Search him, Kaspar, while he
tells us, so we may all laugh while we are
killing him!’’

For a second, Gottfried’s wavering in-
telligence drifted back to his tired brain.

'The jet talons of the Master were very
near! He was about to pounce! In a
second his body, vampire-blighted, would
become a hideous night prowler and a
dead-alive slave.

"Let’s all laugh together in Hell!’’ he
shouted and touched his burning rope to
the leather cannon, which pointed into
the open box of dull black grains which
lay at the base of that great pile of pow-
der chests.

And after that it mattered little to
Gottfried Gunther or any of the White

122

WEIRD TALES

Bears that the Master had once been
dose.

J ORIAN and Hanne, holding the quiv-
ering child between them, deep in the
shelter of the beechwood, saw a vast black
shadow settle down upon the hill top.
Otherwise the sky was cloudless!

They heard the shouts of men, the re-
ports of musketoons and the boom of the
cannon; they saw lance-points glint on
the summit of the earthworks; then a
deafening roar.

A rushing wind howled through the
tree tops. The air was full of dirt and
dust. A fountain of earth sprang up like
the trunk of a thick dark tree, growing
where the fortified hill had been. A pike,
twirling end over end, no bigger than a
straw in the blue above, came hissing
down into the wood, followed by a thin
dri 22 le of red mud and bits of unidenti-
fied things.

Then utter quiet.

The watchers, aouching low, saw a
tattered shadow like a distant cloud flee-
ing, fast, fast, toward the east.

Over the head of weeping Achsah, the
Swedish man and the German maiden
kissed, soberly, without rapture.

"We will go to America?” said Hanne.
"To Wineland!” replied Jorian, smil-
ing, and they turned toward the horses.

Though the Thirty Years War was to
continue still for several years, its im-
petus was slowing down. Its guiding
spirit had fled.

2. Achsah Young — oj Windsor
The Authority

“►T^hou shalt not suffer a witch to
-i- live.” — Exodus xxii, 18.

"And the soul that turneth after such
as have familiar spirits and after wi 2 ards

... I will even set my face against that
soul and will cut him off from among his
people.” — Deuteronomy xvii, 10-11.

The Presentment

"May it please yr Honble Court, we the
Grand inquest now setting for the Coun-
ty of Hartford, being made sensable by
testamonies duly billed to us, that the
maid Achsah Young, of Windsor, is un-
der the susspition of useing witchecraft,
which is abomanable both in ye sight of
God & man and ought to be witnessed
against, we doe therefore (in complyance
to our duty, the discharge of our oathes
and that trust reposed in us) presente
the above mentioned psson to the Honble
Court of Assistants now setting in Hart-
ford, that she may be taken in to Custody
and proceeded against according to her
demerits.

"Hartford, 20th Fby, 1647

"in behalfe of Ae Grnd Jury
"JOSIAH Kblton, foreman”

The Indictment

"Achsah Young Aou standest here in-
dicted by ye name of AAsah Young (of
Windsor) as being guilty of witAcrafte
for Aat thou not haveing Ae fear of God
before Aine eyes hast had familiaritie
wiA SaAan Ae grand enemie of god and
mankind and by his help hast Aereby
hurt Ae bodyes of divers of Ae subjeas
of our sovraigne Lord Ae King of whiA
by Ae law of god and of Ais corporation
thou oughtest to dye.”

Note by Sec'y of Court

"AAsah pled not guiltie and refered
herself to a tryall by Ae jury present.”

Oath to fury

"You doe sware by Ae great and
dreadful name of Ae everliving god Aat
you will well and truely try just verdia
give and true deliverance make between

THE MASTER HAS A NARROW ESCAPE

123

our sovraigne Lord the King and such
prisoner at the barr given you in charge
according to the Evidence given in Court
and the lawes so help you god in our
Lord Jesus.”

Session entitled "A particular courte in
Hartford upon the tryall of Achsah
Young 28 Fby., 1647”

A dam grant aged about 59 years tes-
. tifieth that formerly going to reap in
a meadow at Windsor, his land he was to
work on lay near to John Yoimg’s land.
It came to the thoughts of the said John
Young’s daughter, the present prisoner,
to walk througfi the meadow and it fell
that a poisonous snake stung him in the
ancle as she came near.

Without balm applied, she bandaged
the ancle saying you shall not suffer and
he was shortly cured, which he is certain
could not be, but by unnatural arts and
magicks.

The deponent also saith that since
nearly a year ago, his son Ansel has found
no comfort in anything but being near
the prisoner, which Adam Grant deemed
not seemly and so sent him to live in
Wethersfield.

Shortly after he being very well as to
ye outward vew was suddenly taken very
ill and moped about, not working or rel-
ishing his food upon which Adam Grant
went to Achsah Young and bad her un-
bewitch his child or he would beat her
hart out. Wherefore Achsah sayd God
forbad' she should hurt Ansel and wrote
him something which Adam Grant could
not read but when Ansel had received it
he imediately after was well and would
not say to his father what it was.

Adam Grant testifieth again saying
that it is a matter of common knowledge
in Windsor that the present prisoner has
a yellow bird which was brought from the
Canary islands and without doubt is her
familiar spirit, she being seen often in ks

company talking and lau^iing to it like
if it had a Christian soule.

Feb. 28, 47.
Attests Nehemiah Pratt Secy

G oodwife grant aged 47 years tes-
tifieth that before her son Ansel
went to Wethersfield, that she slept a
night at John Young’s house being be-
nighted by a storm of thunder and light-
ning. Although she knew by report
that the prisoner was a sabbath breaker
and one who told fortimes she went to
bed with her but in great fear meaning
not to slepe.

In the midst of the night she woke and
heard a soft sound like a striking of
wings against the windowe, but saw no
thing there, but noticed that in a comer
of the room a spinning wheel was turning
slowly of itself. She then remembered
that the prisoner had been said to have
been able to spin so great a quantity of
fine linen yarn as the deponent did never
know nor hear of any other woman that
could spin so much.

She shook the prisoner to wake her,
crying out, then looking up she saw a
light about the bignes of her too hands
glance along the edge of the room near
the floor to the harth ward and afterwards
saw it no more.

She also testifieth that she told the pris-
oner she would report this and Achsah
did beg her to say no thing and all would
be well, but the next day having men-
tioned the matter to Mistress Kent, Good-
wife Grant did go to slepe in dread of
some hurt. Lying in bed, with a good
fire giving such light that one might see
all over that room where she then was,
she heard a noise and presently some-
thing fell on her legs with violence and
oppressed her stomach as if it would have
pressed the breath out of her body. Then
appeared an ugly shaped thing like a dog,
having a head such that she clearly and

124

WEIRD TALES

distinctly knew to be the head of Achsah
Young. This dog growled fiercely that
if she had her strength she would tear
Goodwife Grant in peses and vanished.

Goodwife Grant then sat up in bed
and saw a black face at the window,
which looked like John Young’s black
slave Asaph, it grinned and nodded at
her till she fell senseless and when she
knew things again, morning had come.

Goodwife Grant also testifieth that a
girl taken by John Young to work in the
house, Achsah being ill, did tend Achsah
and seeing a silk hood and blew apron
in a closet would have tried them on,
meaning them no hurt, but a noise
frighted her away and she saw that Ach-
sah was rolling about in bed, very hot
and red and talking to herself in some
strange speech which seemed to the girl
not holy. She asked Achsah what she
spoke and was answered German, follow-
ing which Achsah began to sing a silly
and useless song« about love and Maytime
and a lover who had gone away. She
asked Achsah if she had sung what Eng-
lish she could, then sing German and
then she sung that which she called Ger-
man, but which the girl believed to be a
witch’s call, for something patted at the
window and the girl said what creature
is that with a great head and wings and
no boddy and all black.^ Achsah said
that is my father, and the girl sayd how
your father, your father is aslepe down-
stairs, and Adhsah sayd no thing after, but
maide as tho she was aslepe.

Feb. 28, 47.

Attests Nehemiah Pratt, Secy

M istress rent, aged 73, testifieth
that upon a Sunday when all others
had left her alone in the house, she being
bedridden, did look from the window
across the field towards John Young’s
great barn and saw the present prisoner
come from the direaion of the village

and enter the bam quickly like one who
would not be seen, whereupon a boye,
seemingly like Ansel Grant, did come
also a little later and the barn doors did
open before him without his having nede
to touch them, so that he went in. Be-
fore the people came from the church,
Achsah came out again and went into her
house, but the boye she did not see more.
Later when she mentioned it to Goodwife
Grant, she was told by her that Ansel
was in Wethersfield, so that she knew it
could not be him, but the devill instead
in the shape of a boye.

Mistress Kent, speaking of this matter
to Achsah Young, was laughed at, Ach-
sah saying Granny you can see no farther
than the chickens in your yard and then
she thought that if this girl was naught
as folkes suspea, may be she will smite
my chickens, and quickly after one chick-
en dyed and she remembred she had
heard if they were bewitched, they would
consume within, and she opened it and
it was consumed in ye gisard to water
and wormes, and divers others of them
droped, she never having seen any chick-
en that was so consumed with wormes.

"Ye testor is redy to give oath to ye
above written testimony when called
therunto.’’ Feb. 28, 47.

Attests Nehemiah Pratt, Secy.

J AMES FRYE, aged 41, testifieth that
two years agone he had calfe very
strangely taken after Achsah Young had
passed by looking long on the calfe. It
roared very strangely and unwonted for
a space of six or seven hours, so he sent
for her to see the calfe which he had
tyed in the lott to a great post lying on
the ground, and the calfe ran away with
that post as if it had bine a fether and
ran amonge Indian come and pulled up
many hills and stood still.

She followed and looked on the calfe
and it set a running till it came to a fence

THE MASTER HAS A NARROW ESCAPE

and gave a great cry in a lowing way
and stood still.

He testified that he spoke harshly to
her and named her witch, whereupon she
wept much and begged him pity her for
she was sorely tempted and he saying
how.^ why are you tempted? she said no
thing but went away and he saw her meet
the black slave who patted her shoulder
and made as if to comfort her.

That night he could not sleep and hear-
ing a noyse about the house like a beast
that was knoa with an axe, he got up and
found the calf dead at the door, and
when it was skinned it looked as if it had
been bruised or pinched on the shoulders.

Feb. 28, 47.

Attests Nehemiah Pratt, Secy.

An insert by Nehemiah Pratt, Secy.

A fter the above evidence was heard
Lby the court, Achsah Young was
taken to the common jail for safe keeping
where she was questioned frequently,
many times a day, for three weeks. Her
proud bearing and spirit gradually broke
because of the cold of her prison and her
harsh treatment. Her watchman said
he often heard her talking to herself or
some one that he could not see and she
pled often for mercy, but never called
upon our Saviour, so that he knew she
was accursed and would finally confess.

The watchman made noises all night
that she might not slepe, and frequent
visitors would question her at any hour.

Goody Pew, Mistress Knight and her
daughter, and Goodwife Simonds all
came the last night before the second
hearing and pressed her to name any
other witch in town and to receive con-
solation from the minister for the welfare
of her soul.

The hardened prisoner protested that
she was innocent and denied eveiything,
saying "take heed the devile have not

you!” and "I have sinns enough to an-
swer for now and I will not add another”
this reported in writing by Goody Pew.

"Pray, pray for me,” she said, "and
that will console me.”

Goody Pew saying "we did not come
to pray but to work!” held her tight and
the other women then removed her cloth-
ing and searched for witch marks, prick-
ing her with pins everywhere it seemed
to them a mark might be, but as she felt
the pain as was proved by her shrieks and
cries, they saw that they would have to
search farther and began to cut off the
long hair of her head, but had great dif-
ficulty. A proof of her witchcraft being
that though she was at other times a weak
and light girl yet she was then so strong
and extreme heavy that the four women
had long work to cut off all her hair;
Achsah' crying bitterly as if she had been
beaten all the time.

They found the spot she had tried to
hide, a dark place, sunken in and which
did not bleed and knowing that she was
found out, she said to Goody Pew, "Yes,
I am a witch, go away, go away and let
me slepe!”

Goody Pew said to the other women,
"we will be merciful and fair and prove
her beyond doubt. Let us try her by
water, and be sure!”

So they took her as she was to the duck
pond bound hand and foot and put her
on the water. She swam upon the water
like a cork and when Goody Pew labored
to press her down she buoyed up and they
saw that the water refused to take her and
knew her for a true witch and servant of
the devill.

The Second Hearing

J ONAS JESOP of Wethersfield, aged 60,
testifieth that being warned by his
friend Adam Grant that Achsah Young
might come thence to pursue and lead

126

WEffiD TALES

astray young Ansel Grant, he made every
e£Fort to kepe her off, but the boye being
ill, AsajA, a small black slave belonging
to John Young of Winsor brought the
boye a letter, and showed him a glass to
see his face in, as Jonas Jesc^ supposed,
but the boye crying out Achsah, Achsah,
he took away the glass and saw in it as
through a wituiow, the shape of a girl
moving and smiling, which quickly fad-
ed when he took the glass.

The next day she rode there from Win-
sor and would not be kept from his room
not gott away when Ae was there, and
one time Mistress Jesc^ bid her go away
and thrust her from the boy, but she
turned ag^iire and said she would looke
on him.

Mistress Jesop sayd you are a witch,
you know you are. Why do you not let
the boy alone? She sayd I am not mali-
tious and do not mean mischiefe, why do
they proToake me if they think I am a
witdi? Why do they not let me come
into the church?

Dated March 1, 47. Wethersfield;
taken upon oath before us Jabez Penhale,
Zebulon Clawson. Exhibited in court,
March 20, 47. Attests Nehemiah Pratt,
Secy.

Here Achsah cried out, "they seek my
innocent blood;” the magistrat replied
who, she sayd every body. Being spoken
to about triall by swiming, she sayd "the
divill that caused me to come here can
keep me up!”

The magistrat sayd, you admitted your
guilt; she sayd well, well, if I did be done
with the matter, do not make me suffer.
Ye asked me before. Goody Pew, to name
a witch, look in that corner where the
black man of my father’s is standing.
There is the one to blame for this, take
him and hang him too! The people
located where the slave was said to be,
but he was not there to be seen, though
she kept pointing there and saying can

you not see him? How he is lauding!
If you do not kill him you will be very
sorry.

But Asaph the black slave was not to
be found and has never been seen here
since so that many take him for the devill
in human shape as I think the magistrat
did when he sayd to the jury before dieir
verdia.

"Just as God has his human servants,
his diurch on earth, so also has the devill.
These witches and wizards are won by
him by his appearance in many shapes;
he deceives them and makes them his al-
lies to ruin their fellows. We cannot
reach the devill, but today we have his
servant vdiora if we suffer her to live, will
injure us again. Even though she may
not be able to destroy the life of her
neighbor by her incantations, still, if she
iiuends to do so, it is right that she
should hang!! As seen by the evidence
the party accused has made a league with
the devill and hath been at known prac-
tices of witchcraft. The devill cares
nothing for witches as you can see by his
allowing her to be taken; there are two
reasons for this; his hatred and malice
toward all men and his insatiable desire
to have the witches not sure enough of
his hatred till then. Bring in your judge-
ment.”

The Jury Foreman

"Ye party above mentioned is found
guilty ye jury and sentenced to be
hung until dead.”

Executioner^ s Warrant

To Geoffrey Croye Gentlmn higji
Sheriff of the County of Hartford Greet-
ing-

Wheras Achsah Young of Windsor at
a special court held at Hartford, March
20th for the County of Hartford before
William Wheeler Esqe was indiaed and
arraigned upon five several indictments

THE MASTER HAS A NARROW ESCAPE

127

for useing practising and exercising
witchcraft upon various people dwelling
in Wethersfield and Windsor; wherby
their bodyes and property were affliaed
wasted and tormented contrary to the
form of the statute in that case provided.
To which indiaments the said Achsah
Young pleaded not guilty and for Tryall
thereof put herselfe upon God and her
Country. She was found guilty of the
ffelonyes and Witchaafts wherof she
stood indiaed and sentence of death ac-
cordingly passed agt her as the Law di-.-
reas execution whereof ya remaines to
be done.

These are therefore in the name of his
Majtie Charles now King over England
to will and command you that upon Fry-
day next being the 25th day of this in-
stant month of March to condua the said
Achsah Young from his Majties Goale
at Hartford to Gallows Hill and there
cause her to be hanged by the neck until
dead and of your doings herein make re-
tume to the Clerk of sd Court and pre-
cept. And hereof you are not to faile at
your peril. And this shall be sufficient
warrant. Given under my hand and seal
at Hartford the 21st of March Annoque
Dm 1647

March 25th 1647.

According to the within written pre-
cept I have taken the Bodye of the within
named Achsah Young out of his Majties
Goale in Hartford and Safely Conveighd
her to the place provided for her Execu-
tion and Caused ye sd Achsah to be
hanged by the neck till Shee was dead all
which was according to the time within
required and So I make return by me
Geoffrey Croye
Sheriff

Note by Nehemiah Pratt, Secy

A pathetic incident made me almost
sorry for this abominable witch. A
child was borne in the prison (probably
a devil-chick) and bound out to Ansel
Grant who had come of age and arrived
in Hartford after the execution. He de-
nied his parents when they sought to
speak with him and pretended not to
know them, but engaged himself to mein-
teine and well educate Achsah’s sonne.

He has since disappeared and no one
knows where he has gone to dwell. John
Young likewise has sold his property and
moved away, and thus ends the first case
of witchcraft in Quohnectacut. God
grant it may be the last!

Wm. Wheeler.

THE GAME

By DOROTHY NORWICH

Mallory knew that he was being murdered by degrees, knew that it was useless
to fight — yet he made sure that his killers would be robbed
of the fruits of their crime

M allory rose from his bed and
stumbled weakly across the bed-
room floor to the bathroom ad-
joining. From the hall came the sac-
cbarinely sweet voice of his wife.

"What are you doing, dear?”
Something in the cloying tone irritated
Mallory. "Getting a drink,” he an-
swered, pettishly.

"But I’d have gotten it for you.”

"Get it myself,” Mallory retorted,
shortly. "I’m not dead — ^yet." He al-
lowed himself to pause suggestively be-
fore uttering the word, "yet,” so that it
took on a grim significance utterly for-
eign to it.

With a nice precision, he dropped two
white pellets into a glass. His lips lifted
themselves in a snarling grin as he
watched the water slowly cloud, and then
become milky.

His unnaturally bright eyes fixed on
the door, Mallory drained the glass,
rinsed it thoroughly, and returned it to its
holder. A giddiness came over him. At
his cry, his wife, accompanied by the
doaor, entered the room. Together they
helped him into bed.

"I’ve warned you about undue exer-
tion.” 'The doaor’s voice. Hypocrite!
Mallory wanted to shout at him. De-
nounce him. Call him murderer. In-
stead, he lay still, veiling his eyes with
half-closed lids, lest they betray his secret
triumph.

Presently, he looked up at them, the
little man and the large woman. The
woman’s white forehead; her peculiar-
128

colored eyes that, actually small, some-
how managed to give an impression of
bigness; her lips, full, curved, and greedy.

There was a similarity, Mallory noted,
between the woman and her lover, de-
spite the" man’s inferior height and weak
chin. The same furtiveness of eye was
there, and the lips, full, curved, greedy.

Hie woman's voice interrupted his
mental comparisons.

"A weak sleeping-potion, perhaps?”
she was suggesting.

"Sleeping-potion!” Mallory could have
shrieked his dreadful mirth. Fools! did
they think he didn’t know? Did they
suppose him so utterly simple that he had
not been aware this long time of the des-
perate game they were playing? But he
was playing, too. 'They didn’t know that.
But he was.

'The thought tickled Mallory, and for
the moment, he actually smiled. Yes, he
was playing. A sudden bitterness welled
up in him. Alone, three miles from the
nearest neighbor — five from the town,
helpless, sick, old before his time, he sat
in this strange game. He, against the
other two, with the conspirators, until
this very morning, holding the high cards.

'The woman put her arm under his
head and raised it slightly. His eyes met
those of the doaor as he held the glass
against his lips. There was fear in the
furtive eyes, and strain. It pleased Mal-
lory greatly. The man was breaking. A
year and a half is a long time. They
hadn’t expeaed him to survive so many
— ^sleeping-potions!

W.T.— 8

THE GAME

129

The glass emptied, Mallory lay back on
his pillows. The room seemed darker
than it had a few minutes ago. Ah, well,
that last card of his would soon be played
now.

And it had been luck, sheer luck — or
had it been the machination of a tardy
justice? — ^that had enabled him to see to
its playing.

Hendricks, from the next farm, had
been in to see him. Just passing by, he
had said, and had dropped in to see how
Mallory was getting along. It had taken
but a minute to slip Hendricks the letter
he had kept by him for months, and se-
cure his promise to deliver it that same
afterncwn.

It might even have reached its destina-
tion now! The thought made Mallory’s
head swim. Fright seized him. He must
keep his mind clear. He wasn’t going to
be cheated of living it all over again be-
fore he died. With difficulty, he mar-
shaled his senses into some semblance of
order.

He had been thinking of Hendricks.
He could have said: "They are murdering
me for my insurance money.” But what
would Hendricks have said? What would
they have said? "Delirium." That’s
what they would have said. "His mind
is going.” Besides, he was too far gone
for help.

He could have written it in his letter.
But to what purpose? 'The elearic chair
for the pair of diem, probably, and he’d
have the woman’s soul on his hands.
Wasn’t it enough to have endured ten
years of her, here on earth, without hav-
ing to bear with her in hell, as well?

No, the way he had chosen was best.

His thin body began to shake with re-
pressed mirth. It was so grotesquely
funny! And that insurance policy they
had persuaded him to take out two years
W. T.— 9

ago; the policy that an ordinary farmer
had to sweat blood to keep up; that pol-
icy that meant ease for them, and spelled
death for him. That fat insurance policy!
If they only knew!

Unable to control himself longer, Mal-
lory shouted his triumph, only it didn’t
sound like a shout. It was more like a
rattle. His emaciated frame shook and
trembled. His vision, slightly blurred
now, beheld the faces of the lovers bend-
ing over him. A little shaken they looked,
yet indecently eager.

Vultures! 'They wondered why he
laughed. Or did they know he was laugh-
ing? Perhaps they thought it was the
death paroxysm. No matter, they would
know shortly.

It was hard, suddenly, to breathe. A
crushing weight sat astride his chest. A
stiflf, snarling grin parted Mallory’s lips,
and froze upon them.

They would know very soon now.

T hey sat stiffiy, uneasily, on the edges
of their chairs, the little man, and
the large woman. Beads of sweat damp-
ened the man’s forehead. He wiped
them away, nervously, with the back of
his hand. A pearly dew also sat upon the
upper lip of the woman, and ^e dabbed
at it wiffi a handkerchief, limp with the
perspiration from her large hands.

Their greedy, puzzled eyes were fas-
tened upon the man behind die desk, their
ears straining to catch every word. Obliv-
ious of the tap of the typewriters, the
murmur of voices that came to them,
slightly muffied, from the outer offices of
the great insurance company, they cen-
tered their attention upon the adjuster.

He was handing the woman a letter.
She took it with hands that trembled a
little. The doaor’s anxious eyes followed
the lines of the brief note over her
shoulder.

130

WEIRD TALES

I am committing suicide. You wiil find the box
of poison tablets in the bathroom medicine chest.
There will be two missing.

Mallory.

Still uncomprehending, the lovers
turned their ga 2 e back to the insurance
man. What was it he was saying.? The
policy contained an iron-bound suicide
clause.' Yes, they remembered that now.
It hadn't seemed important then. They
hadn’t feared suidde.

The doaor’s lips were suddenly dry,
and he tried to moisten them with a
tongue as hot and parched as a li 2 ard’s.
The woman’s mouth sagged.

"In event of the insured committing

suidde, this policy becomes null and
void.’’ Not the exaa words, but the gist
of them. "

'The eyes of the man and woman met,
understanding slowly dawning. 'That last,
choking rattle of Mallory’s! The sardonic
gleam in his glazing eyes!

Emptily, they rose, and made their way
out of the office, through the outer offices,
with their efficient bustle, to the corridor.

Softly, as if fearing to disturb someone,
they closed the door behind them, and
upon the clicking of the latch came the
laughter of the dead man, moddng,
haunting.

They knew, now.

The Lost Lady

( Continued from page 31)

many, and I assure you it’s very mystify-
ing. A person, usually a child or young
woman, will become the viaim of a
malignant spirit, the peasants believe, and
this pelting ghost, or poltergeist, as they
call it in German, will follow the poor
thing about, fling dishes and light articles
of furniture at her, snatch the bedclothes
off her while she sleeps, and bite, pinch
and scratch her. I’ve seen severe skin-
wounds infliaed on unfortunate children
who’d been seleaed by a poltergeist as its
victim, and the parents assured me the
injuries appeared by magic, while others
looked on in broad daylight, yet no one
could see the hand that infliaed the
saatches or the teeth which bit the
afliiaed person. I’d set the whole busi-
ness down as superstitious nonsense, but
since I saw what happened to my wife
this morning. I’m not so certain I wasn’t
laughing out of turn when I grinned at
those German peasants.’’

"Say on, Monsieur, I listen,” de Gran-
din answered.

"My wife was dressing this morning
when she suddenly la out a shrill scream
and half fell across the bench before her
vanity. I ran to her, and when I reached
her I saw aaoss the white skin of her
shoulders the distina wale of a whip.
I’ve seen just such marks on laborers in
Cochin China when the overseer had
lashed them. She was almost fainting
when I got to her, and babbling some-
thing in Khmer which I couldn’t luider-
stand. I picked her up and started to
carry her toward the bed, and as I did so
she emitted another cry, and crossing the
first diagonal mark was a second wale, so
heavy this time that I could see the little
spots of blood starting through the skin
where it had been bruised to the point of
rupture.

"I laid her on the bed and ran into the
bathroom to soak a towel in witch hazel
to put across her shoulders.” He paused
a moment and looked challengingly at us.
"Please remember she was lying on her
back in bed,” he continued with slow

Next Month

Don't miss this group of fine stories scheduled to appear in the February issue of
WEIRD TALES on sale January 1.

aaSjjSS*

Siva the Destroyer

by J.-J. des Ormeaux

A thrlllingr novelette of super-sclence and a conflict of death
with a genius that was threatening the world.

The Tree-Man

by Henry S. Whitehead

A weird story of the Virgin Island9>~the
Blacks who came from Dahomey brought
their eery superstitions with them.

The Thing In
Bush

by Jane Scales

the

Weird death struck down the man who
penetrated the bush country in search of the
strange blue diamonda

The Ghost-Helper

by Seabury Quinn

Jules de Grandin, long known as a ghost-breaker, essays a
new role, that of '*ghost>helper.*’

The Horror City

, by Edmond Hamilton

In the heart ot the great Arabian desert
Uy a vast, black-domed city ot horror un-
speakable. and Into this city were drawn
three aviators by the tremendous suction of
the winds.

The Picture

by Frauds Flagg

Crazy Jim was a hobo, shunned by bis asso-
ciates of the road as a bit cracked, but be
attained to weird power unthinkable and
dominated the destinies of nations.

Tzo-Lin*s Nightingales

by Ben Belitt

A tale ot horror In a Chinese antique shop.

These are some of the super-excellent stories that will appear in the February issue of

WEIRD TALES

February Issue on Sale January 1

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132

WEIRD TALES

emphasis. "Her shoulders were pressing
direaly on the sheet; nothing, not even a
bullet from a high-power rifle could have
struck her from beneath through the thick
layers of cotton-felt of the mattress, yet
even as I was crossing the room to her
she screamed a third time, and when I
reached her there was another whip-mark
crossing the first two at an angle on her
shoulders. This happened just as I’m
telling you,” he concluded, then regarded
us with an almost threatening glance as
he awaited our expressions of polite in-
credulity.

"Mrf/j out, I believe you, my friend,”
de Grandin told him. "It is entirely pos-
sible. Indeed, I am not at all surprized.
No. On the contrary.

"Are we arrived? Good, we shall
examine these so strange marks upon
your poor lady and do what we can to
relieve her suffering.

"By the way,” he added as we mounted
the porch steps, "at what time did
this most unpleasant experience befall
Madame?*’

Hildebrand considered a moment.
"About eight o’clock, as near as I can re-
member,” he answered. "We usually
breakfast at eight, but we’d overslept this
morning and were hurrying to get down
to the dining-room before Rumsen, the
cook, presented her resignation. She
usually resigns if she has to wait a meal
more than half an hour, and we were
dressing with one eye on the clock when
Thi-bah felt the first pain and the first
mark showed on her skin.”

"Eight o’clock,” de Grandin repeated
musingly. "At six they take her, at eight
the phenomenon is observed. Eh bien,
they wasted little time, those ones. Yes,
it all fits together admirably. I was sure
before, now I am certain.”

"What’s that?” Archy asked.

"1 did but confirm my diagnosis, Mon-

sieur. It is seldom that I am mistaken.
'This time, it seems, I am less so than
usual. Lead us to Madame your wife, if
you please.”

“XT Thy ” I exclaimed as we

T V entered the pleasant, chintz-hung
room where young Mrs. Hildebrand lay,
then stared at the girl in fatuous, hang-
jawed amazement.

"Nom d’un parapluie rose!” de Gran-
din exclaimed softly. "I suspeaed it, now
I know. Yes. Of course. Observe her,
my friend.”

I did. I couldn’t help it. I knew it
could not be, yet there on the bed before
me lay Moneen McDougal, or her twin
sister, and stared at us with the wide,
hopeless gaze of a dumb thing taken in
a trap and waiting in mute terror for the
hunter’s knife across its throat.

"Madame,” de Grandin began softly,
deferentially, "we have heard of your
trouble and are come to aid you.”

A tiny parenthesis of puzzled wrinkles
formed between the girl’s arched black
brows, but no sign of understanding
showed in her pale face.

"Madame,” he essayed again, "]e suis
un medecin frangais, et ”

Still no sign of understanding in the
wide, frightened gaze.

He paused a moment, his little, round
blue eyes narrowed in concentrated
thought, then launched forth a series of
queer-sounding, singsong words which
reminded me of the gibberish with which
Qiinese laimdrymen address each other.

Instant recognition shone in her dark
eyes and she answered in a torrent of
droning, oddly infleaed phrases.

He motioned me forward, still convers-
ing in the outlandish dialea, and together
we approached the bed, turned down the
coverlet and bent to examine her. Like
most modem young women she wore as

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134

WEIRD TALES

her sole undergarment above the waist a
knitted-silk bandeau about her bosoms,
and as she had dressed only in her lingerie
when the curious illness overtook her, we
had no difficulty in observing the lash-
marks aaoss her cream-satin shoulders.
High, angry-looking wales they were, as
though freshly laid on by a heavy whip
in the hands of a brutally strong tor-
mentor. "Cher Dieu!” de Grandin swore,
then bent to question her again, but
stopped abruptly as she stiffened suddenly
and gave a short, terrified exclamation;
the sort a patient imdergoing odontotrypy
might emit; and under our very eyes there
rose across her shoulders another scourge-
mark, red, ecchymosed, swollen. It was
as if the skin were inflated from beneath,
for a mound like a miniature molehill
rose as we watched, and the white skin
tinned bright, blood-sweating ted.

Again she trembled in our grasp and
again a red and angry welt showed on her
shoulders. From scapular to scapular her
back showed a wicked criss-cross of ugly,
livid wales.

"Quick, mon ami, your hypo and some
morphine, if you please!” he cried. "This
will continue intermittently until — vre
must give her surcease of her pain at
once!”

I prepared the mercy-bearing syringe
with trembling hands and drove the
needle deep into her quivering arm, then
shot the plunger home, and as the opiate
took hold upon her tortured nerves she
relaxed from her rigid pose and sank
back slowly on the bed, but as she did so
another lash-track appeared on her shoul-
der, and now the fragile skin was broken
through, and a stain of bright capillary-
blood spread on the linen bedclothes.

"Good heavens, what is it, some ob-
scure form of hemophilia?” I asked.

"Neither obscure nor hemophilia,” de
Grandin answered grimly. “It is devil-

ment, my friend; but devilment we can
do nothing to palliate until G>stello finds
the one we seek.”

"Costello?” I echoed in amazement.
"What has he to do with this poor
child’s ”

"Everything, pardteu!" the Frenchman
interrupted. "Now, if we do prepare a
bandage pack and soak it well with lead-
water and laudanum, we shall have done
all possible until ”

"Until?” I prompted, as he ceased
speaking and proceeded to prepare the
soothing dressing for the girl’s lacerated
back.

“Until the leaden-footed Costello be-
stirs himself,” he returned sharply.
"Have I not said it? Certainly.

"Renew the dressing every hour, my
friend,” he bade young Hildebrand as we
prepared to leave. "If her attacks return
with frequency, administer these codein
tablets, but never more than one in eadi
half-hour. Au revoir, we shall return,
and when we do she will have ceased to
suffer.”

"You mean she’ll be ” Archy

chcked, then stopped, afraid to name the
dread eventuality.

"By no means; no,” de Grandin
cheered him. "She will survive, mon
vieux, nor will she suffer much meantime,
but thou^ we do our work away from
here you may be sure that we shall not
be idle.”

As the young man looked at him
bewildered he added, "For ailments such
as this some laboratory work is neces-
sary,” then smiled as a light of under-
standing broke in the tortured husband’s
face.

; "The plausible explanation is always
best,” he murmured as we entered my
car and turned toward home.

“Have you really an idea what’s wrong

WEIRD TALES

135

with her?*’ I asked. "It’s the strangest
case I’ve ever seen.”

"But yes, my ideas are most certain,”
he returned, "although I can not set them
forth in full just now. You are perhaps
familiar with stigmata?”

"Only indirealy,” I answered. "I’ve
never seen a case of stigma, but from
what I’ve read I understand it’s a physical
manifestation of a condition of hysteria.
Aren’t certain religious fanatics supposed
to work themselves into a state of ecstasy
and then show marks approximating
wounds on their hands and feet, in simu-
lation of the Savior’s crucifixion-marks?”

"Prechiment," he agreed with a nod.
"And hysteria is a condition of psycho-
neurosis. Normal inhibitions are broken
down, the conscious mind is in abeyance.
You have doubtless seen in psychological
laboratories the hypnotist bid the blood
leave the subjea’s hand, and thereupon
have observed the hand in question go
corpse-pale as the vital fluid gradually
receded?”

"Of course,” I answered, "but what
the deuce are you driving at, anyway?”

"I formulate an hypothesis. Anon we
shall put it to the test, I hope.”

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"What news, mon brave?” de Grandin
asked eagerly as he espied the big Irish-
man.

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tive returned. "Misther Dougal McDou-
gal’s been down to headquarters raisin’
partic’lar hell wid everybody from th’
Commissioner down. He’s threatenin’ to
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136

WEIRD TALES

call out th’ Marines if we don’t find his
wife’s sister before dark.”

"Dites, and have you been successful
in the search for the mysterious Oriental
gentleman as yet?” de Grandin asked.

"No, sor. ’Twas a crack-brained idea
ye had there, if ye’ll excuse me sayin’ so.
We’d have no more chance o' findin’ ’em
that way than we’d have o’ meetin’ up
wid a needle in a haystack, as th’ felly
says, sor. Now, if 'twas me ”

"Triomphe, victoire, je suis couronne
de succes!" Inspector Renouard burst into
the room, his dark eyes fairly blazing
with excitement, his beard and mustaches
bristling electrically, "All the way from
the prefecture I have run — as fast as a
taximeter could carry me!- Behold, we
have found him! 'Those peerless realtors,
Sullivan, Dorsch & Doerr have but
recently rented a mansion to one Qiinese
gentleman, a fine, large furnished home
with commodious garage attached. He
particularly desired a garage, as he pos-
sessed an automobile of noble size in
which he drove to the house agent’s office,
accompanied by a chauffeur and footman,
also Orientab. Yes, of course. 'The gen-
tlemen of real estate noticed this par-
ticularly, since such customers are of the
rarest at their office. In lieu of references
he paid them three months’ rent in cash
— in golden louis — ^no, what b it the
American gold coin is called? Bucks?
Yes, in golden bucks he paid one thou-
sand berries — the gendarme at headquar-
ters told me.

"How much in dollars is a thousand
berries, my friend?” he turned bright, in-
quiring eyes upon Costello.

"Tell wid stoppin’ to translate now;
let’s git busy an’ find him!”' Costello
roared. "Are ye wid me. Doctor de
Grandin, sor?”

"Cordieu, when was I ever otherwise
in such a case, mon vieux?” the little
Frenchman answered in a perfea fever of

excitement. "Quick, make haste, my
friend!”

Of Renouard he asked: "And where
may one find this so superbly furnished
house and garage the Oriental gentleman
rented, petit frere?”

"At 68 Hamilton Avenue of the
West,” the other returned, consulting his
black-leather pocketbook. "Where is
Friend Costello? He has not yet com-
puted the berries into dollars for me.”

Sergeant Costello had no time to ex-
plain the vagaries of American slang to
the excited Inspeaor. With t<ght-lipped
mouth pressed close to the transmitter of
my office telephone Jie was giving direc-
tions to some one at police headquarters
in a low and ominously calm voice.
"Yeah,” he murmured, "tear-bombs,
that’s what I said. An’ a couple o’ chop-
pers, an’ some fire-axes, an’ riot guns, an’
every man wid hb nightstick. Git me?
O. K., be 'round here pronto, an’ if anny
one rings th’ bell or sounds th’ siren on
th’ way I’ll beat ’im soft wid me own two
fists. Git that, too. Come on, now, shake
a leg; I’m waitin’, but I ain’t waitin’ long.
See?”

T he early December dark had de-
scended, though the moon was not
yet high enough to illuminate the streets
as the police car set out for Hamilton
Avenue. Obedient to Costello’s fiercely
whbpered injunction, gong and siren
were silent, and we slipped dirough the
dusk as silently as a wraith.

'The house we sought stood well back
on a quarter-acre plot of land planted
with blue spruce, Japanese maples and
rhododendron. As far as we could see,
the place was deserted, for no gleam of
light showed anywhere and an at-
mosphere of that utterly dead silence
which seems the peculiar property of ten-
antless buildings wrapped it like a
blanket.

WEIRD TALES

137

"Spooky,” Costello declared as he
brought the car to a halt half-way down
the block and marshaled his forces. "Gil-
ligan, you and Schultz take th’ back,” he
ordered. "See no one gits out that way,
an’ put th’ nippers on anny one that tries
to make a break. Sullivan, you an’
Esposito git posted be th’ front — take
cover behind some bushes, an’ hit th’
first head that shows itself out th’ front
door. I’m leavin’ ye th’ job o’ seein’ no
one gits out that way. Norton, cover th’
garage. No one’s to go in there till I give
th’ word. Git it?” The men nodded as-
sent, and:

"All right,” he continued. "Hornsby,
you an’ Potansky bring th’ choppers an’
come wid us. All ready, gentlemen?” he
swept Renouard, de Grandin and me with
an inquiring glance.

"More than ready, mon brave, we are
impatient,” de Grandin answered. "Lead
on; we come.”

From a shoulder-holster slung beneath
his left armpit Inspeaor Renouard drew
a Frendi-army revolver almost as large as
a field gun and spun its cylinder apprais-
ingly. *'Bien,” he murmured, "let us go.”
'The two patrolmen with their vicious
little submachine-guns fell in on either
side of us, and we advanced across the
lawn at a run.

"I’ve got A’ warrant here,” Costello
whispered as we paused before Ae veran-
da. “Think I’d better knock an’ ”

“By no means,” de Grandin cut in.
"Let us enter at once. If our presence is
protested, Ae warrant will give it validity.
Meantime, Aere is muA value in sur-
prize, for eaA moment of delay Areatens
deaA for two unfortunate ladies.”

"Two women?” Costello asked in won-
der. "How d’ye figure ”

"Zut! Aaion now, my friend; explana-
tions can wait.

"Permettez-moi,” he added as Costello
drew back to thrust his Aoulder at Ae

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138

WEIRD TALES

door. "This is better, I think.” He felt
quickly in his pocket, producing a ring
on which half a dozen keys dangled, and
sinking to his knees began trying first one,
then another in the door. The first three
trials were failures, but the fourth key
sprung the lock, and with a muttered ex-
clamation of satisfaaion he swung back
the door and motioned us in.

"Bedad, what an illigant burglar wuz
spoilt when you decided to go straight!”
Costello commented admiringly as we
stepped across the threshold.

Thick rugs ate up the sound of our
footfalls as we entered the darkened hall,
and a blackness almost tangible sur-
rounded us while we paused to take our
bearings. "Shall I give ’em a call?” the
Sergeant whispered.

"Not at all,” de Grandin denied. "If
we advertise our presence we have as-
suredly lost what advantage we have thus
far gained, and ”

Somewhere, faint and far-away seem-
ing, as though strained through several
tight-locked doors, there came to us a
faint, shrill, eery note, a piping, quaver-
ing cry like the calling of a saeech-owl
heard a long way off, and, answering it,
subtly, like an echo, another wail.

"Howly Mither, what’s that?” Costello
asked. "Which way did it come from?”

"From under us, I think,” de Grandin
answered, "and it is devilment of the most
devilish sort, my friend. Come, let us
hasten; there is no time to waste!”

We tiptoed down the hall, guided by
an occasional flash from Costello’s pocket
light, crept softly through the kitchen,
paused a moment at the basement door
to reassure ourselves we followed the
tight track, then swung the white-enam-
eled door back and passed quietly down
the stairs.

At the turn of the stairway we paused,
fairly petrified by the scene below us.

Draperies of heavy silk had been hung
at all the basement windows, effectively
cutting off all telltale gleams of light to
the outside world. A heavy Chinese rug,
gorgeous with tones of blue and gold
and deep rust-red, was spread upon the
floor, and at its four corners stood tall
vases with perforated tops through which
there slowly drifted writhing gray coils
of heavy incense. Robed in yellow, a
parody of a man squatted cross-legged in
the center of the rug, and it needed no
second glance to see he was terribly de-
formed. One arm was a mere shriveled
relic of its former self, one shoulder was
a full half -foot higher than the other, his
spine was dreadfully contorted, and his
round bullet-head thrust forward, like
that of a vulture contemplating a feast of
carrion. His cheeks were sunken, eye-
sockets so depressed that they appeared
mere hollow caverns, and the yellow skin
was drawn drum-tight over his skull so
that the lips were retraaed from the un-
even, discolored teeth studding his gums.
"A very death’s-head of a face!” I
thought.

But this bizarre, uncanny figure squat-
ting between the incense pots was but a
stage-property of the show.

Nude and fainting, a young girl was
lashed face-forward to a pillar in the
floor. Her feet were raised a foot or more
above the cement, and round the pillar
and her ankles was passed turn after turn
of finely knit silken cord, knotting her
immovably to the beam and forcing her
entire weight upon the thongs which bit
so cruelly into her white and shrinking
flesh. Her arms were drawn around the
post, the wrists crossed and tied at the
farther side, but this did little to relieve
the strain upon the cords encircling her
ankles.

As we came to pause at the turning of
the stairs a short and slender brown-

WEIRD TALES

139

skinned man clad in a sort of apron of
yellow silk, but otherwise quite naked,
stepped forward from the shadows, raised
his right hand and swung a scourge of
plaited leather mercilessly, dragging the
lash diagonally across the girl’s defense-
less back.

She screamed and trembled and drew
herself convulsively closer to the post to
which she was bound, as though she
sought to gain protection from her tor-
mentor by forcing her body into the very
substance of the pillar.

And at her trembling scream the seated
monstrosity laughed silently, and from
her other side another yellow-aproned
man stepped forth and struck her with a
leather lash, and as she screamed again
a third attendant who squatted on the
floor lifted a reed flute to his lips and
with the cunning fidelity of a phonograph
mocked her agonized cry with a trilling,
quavering note.

As such things wiir flash through the
mind unbidden in times of stress, I cotdd
not help comparing her despairing cry
and the mockery of the flute to that com-
position called Le Roitelet in which a
coloratura soprano sings a series of runs,
trills and diversions while a flute ac-
companiment blends so perfectly with
the voice that the listener can hardly say
which is human note and which the note
of woodwind instrument.

But my random thought was quickly
dissipated by de Grandin’s sharp whisper
to Renouard; “’The one at the right for
you, the other one for me, my friend!”

T heir weapons spoke in unison, and
once again the noises harmonized,
for the deep roar of Renouard’s revolver
was complemented by the spiteful, whip-
like crack of de Grandin’s automatic as
a tenor complements a bass, and the two
whip-wielding torturers pitched forward
on the gorgeous rug as though an un-

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140

WEIRD TALES

seen giant had pushed them from behind.

The flutist half rose from his seat on
the floor, but crumpled impotently in the
grasp of one of the policemen, while In-
spector Renouard fairly hurled himself
upon the deformed man and bore him
backward.

"Ah-ha you pig-swine, I have you
now!” he cried exultantly. "You would
kill my men and mock the laws of France,
and run off to the temple and think you
hid successfully from me! You would
follow those escaping lovers to America
and put snakes and spiders where they
could bite me to death, hein? You would
torture this poor one here until she
screamed for mercy while your so detest-
able musician made mockery of her suffer-
ing? Very well; you have had your
laugh; now comes mine, par bleu! I think
my laugh is best!” ^

He rose, dragging the other with him,
and we saw the gleam of steel upon the
cripple’s wrists. "Sun Ah Poy,” he an-
nounced formally, "I arrest you for wilful
murder, for sedition and subornation of
sedition, and for stirring up rebellion
against the Republic of France.

"He is your prisoner. Sergeant,” he
added to ^stello. "Look well to him,
and on tomorrow morning I shall begin
the extradition proceedings.”

Oistello nodded curtly. "Take ’em out,
Hornsby,” he ordered with a gesture
toward Sun and the other prisoner. "Tell
Sullivan an’ Esposito to ring for th’ van
an’ run ’em down to headquarters, an’ call
th’ other boys in. We’re goin’ through
this joint.” He motioned to the other
patrolmen to precede him up the stairs,
then turned to us. "Annything I can do,
gentlemen?” he asked, and I realized the
innate delicacy of the man as I noticed
how he conscientiously kept his glance
averted from the nude, limp form which
de Grandin cut down from the pillar of
torture.

"I think not,” the little Frenchman
answered, looking up from his task with
a quick, friendly smile. "We will join
you upstairs anon, mon brave,"

Together we bent above the uncon-
scious girl. Her white back showed a
lattice-work of crossed whip-welts, and in
several places the skin had ruprared, let-
ting out the blood where the lash-marks
crossed. At de Grandin’s mute command
I gathered her in my arms and bore her
up the stairs to a bedroom, laid her
under the covers, then went to help him
search the bathroom for boric acid. "It is
not much use,” he admitted as we ap-
plied the powder to her ugly-looking
bruises, "but it must do till we can secure
opium wash at your house, my friend.”

Headed by Costello and Renouard die
police searched the house from founda-
tion to ridgepole, but no sign of other
occupants could be found, and the Ser-
geant went to the telephone to tell the
dty morgue of the bodies lying in the
basement. "Will ye be afther cornin’
along now, sors?” he asked, halting in the
doorway to the room where we treated
Avis Brindell’s hurts.

"But certainly,” de Grandin agreed,
taking a blanket from the bed and wrap-
ping the girl in it. "Will you set us down
at Doaor Trowbridge’s, please? We
must give this poor one further atten-
tion.”

W ITH the girl’s injured back well
rubbed with soothing medicine
and carefully bandaged, a powerful
hypnotic administered to assure her sev-
eral hours’ restful sleep, de Grandin and
I joined Costello and Renouard in the
study.

"She will do nicely,” he pronounced.
"By tomorrow morning the hurt will have
vanished from her bruises; Christmas
night she will assuredly be able to attend
her sister’s dinner party, though it will be

WEIRD TALES

141

some time before she may again wear
d&ollete gowns without some slight em-
barrassment. However” — ^he raised eye-
brows and shoulders in an expressive
shrug — "things might have been much
worse, r^est-ce-pas?

"Sergeant, mon brave camarade " — ^he
looked aflFeaionately at Costello — "I
would suggest you telephone Monsieur
and Madame McDougal and tell them
the lost lady has been found.”

He helped himself to a cigar and
smoked in thoughtful silence while the
big Irishman went to make his report.

"She much resembles her so charming
sister, this Madame Avis, does she not?”
he asked apropos of nothing as Deteaive
Sergeant Costello rejoined us.

"Yes,” I agreed, "the resemblance is re-
markable. Indeed, I never recall seeing
three women looking more alike
than ”

"Precisement," he interrupted. "It is
there the explanation lies.

"When first the possibilities of this
case appealed to me was when Inspeaeur
Renouard told Madame McDougal that
this Thi-bah, the missing temple-dancer,
resembled her,” he added.

"Remember, Friend Trowbridge, Mo-
dame’s nerves were all on edge last
night because a strange man, a skull-
faced Oriental, had accosted her in the
streets of Harrisonville? 'That are outr
rageous!’ I told me, but I thought no
more about it until the good Renouard
pops up like a jack-in-the-box from
Cambodia and tells us this story of the
runaways from the Angkor temple. When
he informs Madame McDougal that the
missing Thi-bah resembles her, something
goes click in this so clever brain of mine
— I begin to foresee complications; I also
damn suspea why this Oriental with a
face like a skeleton’s has taken special
note of a strange lady in an American
dty. Yes; Jules de Grandin is like that.

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142

WEIRD TALES

"Now, as you know, I, too, have so-
journed in Cambodia; die secrets of that
land are not strange to me. By no means.
Of the ways of her people I have in-
quired deeply, and this I have learned:
Should a slave run off from those who
own him, or a lady leave her lawful
wedded spouse, or the man who claims
her without the benefit of clergy, for that
matter, the deserted one will seek to find
the fugidve, but if he can not do so, he
will resort to sympathetic magic to com-
pel the runaway’s return.

"You know how in the ancient days,
and more recent times, too, the wizards
and the witches were wont to make a
waxen image of one whom they desired
to be rid of, then place the figurine before
the fire so it would slowly melt, and as it
melted, the original would slowly pine
away and die.^ Of course. Occasionally
they would vary their technique by
thrusting pins through the image in a
vital spot, and as they did so, the poor
unfortunate whose effigy the image was
was seized with insupportable pains in
the same region as that through which
the pin was thrust.

"It does sound childish, I admit,” he
told us with a smile, "but magic is a most
real thing, especially if it be believed in,
and there is quite reliable evidence that
deaths have actually been caused thus.

"Now, the Cambodians have a some-
what similar praaise, though it entails
double suffering: They procure some
person who bears a real or fancied re-
semblance to the runaway, and thereupon
they treat him most discourteously. Some-
times they beat the substitute — ^that is the
usual manner of beginning. If that mild
treatment fails they progress to branding
with white-hot irons, to cutting off fingers
and toes, hands and feet, ears, nose,
breasts and tongue, with dull knives.
Then comes the interesting process of
gouging out the eyes with iron hooks.

finally complete evisceration while the
unfortunate one still lives and breathes.

"Preposterous.^ Not necessarily. I, my-
self, have seen Cambodians’ hands wither,
as though with leprosy, for no apparent
reason, I have seen feet become useless,
and seen eyes grow dim and blind. I
sought to find some medical explanation
and was told there was none. It was sim-
ply that some enemy was working sym-
pathetic magic somewhere at a place
unknown, and somewhere another poor
unfortunate was undergoing excruciating
torture that the hated one might also
suffer.

"Remember, my friends, the Cambod-
ians believe this to be possible, believe it
implicitly; that makes a world of differ-
ence. So it was with Thi-bah; she who is
now Madame Hildebrand. For all of her
short life she had been subjea to those
monkey-faced priests, she was taught to
believe in their fell powers, that they
might not be able to do all they claimed
had never once been entertained in her
thought. Undoubtlessly she had seen such
cases in the past, had seen unfortunate
women tortured diat some fugitive might
suffer, had seen other unfortunates grow
crippled, despair and die because some-
where an enemy worked magic on them.

"When we heard Mademoiselle Avis
had been kidnapped and that she was
Madame McDougal’s sister, the reason
for the aime at once leaped to my eye.
That she bore family resemblance to her
sister, who had been said to much re-
semble Thi-bah, I made no doubt. What
the so amiable Doaor Sun would do in
the circumstances I also could assume
without great trouble. Therefore we set
about finding him and finding him in
haste, lest harm befall his unfortunate in- .
voluntary guest.

"I was on the point of asking Friend
Trowbridge to accompany me to Mon-

WEIRD TALES

143

sieur Hildebrand’s to interview his bride
when the young man saved me the trouble
by appearing so opportunely. Alors, to
his house we went; there we beheld his
young and pretty wife, and saw the whip-
scars take form upon her back, even as we
looked. These scars were pyschic force
physically manifested, of course, but they
were none the less painful for that reason.
Also, Mademoiselle Brindell, who served
as substitute for her whom Doaor Sun
would have hked to torment in person,
was no less tortured because she suffered
through no fault of hers. There is the
answer and die explanation, my friends.”

‘'But ” I began.

"Excusez-moi” he broke in, "I must
inquire after Madame Hildebrand.

"And she rests easily.^” he asked when
his conneaion had been made and Archy
had reported favorably. *'Tres hien — ha,
do you tell me so! Excellent, Monsieur,
I am most happy.

"Monsieur Archy reports,” he told us
as he replaced the receiver in the hook,
"that Madame his wife not only rests
easily, but that the whip-marks have
almost entirely disappeared. A miraculous-
ly quick cure for bruises such as we
observed this afternoon, n’est-ce-pas.
Friend Trowbridge?”

"It certainly is,” I agreed, "but ”

"And the day after tomorrow we dine
with Monsieur and Madame McDougal,
and the so charming Mademoiselle Avis,”
he interrupted, "^rgeant, you must go,
too. The party would be dismal without
you. Me, I devoutly hope they have pro-
cured a turkey of noble proportions. At
present I could eat one as great as an
elephant.”

Again he faced us with one of his
quick, elfin smiles, "Sergeant, Friend
Trowbridge, will you be good enough to
excuse Inspeaeur Renouard and me for
the remainder of the evening?” he asked.

"G)me, Renouard, mon petit singe, we

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144

WEIRD TALES

NEXT MONTH

SIVA THE
DESTROYER

By J.-J. DES ORMEAUX

T he greatest scientists in the world
were killed, one after another; the
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himsdf Siva the Destroyer.

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Captain Stanage embarked upon a con-
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whose tentacles were spread to seize
die world. This unusual story will be
printed complete in the

February issue of

WEIRD TALES

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